Legacy of Vanstrom
by Shadow-Cipher
Summary: Vanstrom Klause is at it again, trying to ruin young Vampyric Lady Shadow's existence. Read on as he tries his hardest to ruin any existence she has within the Vampyric land of Morytania and pull any of her friends into his circle of chaos.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Where in Mieyerditch...?****  
****Search for the Shadow**

_Being one of them was a new feeling to Shadow..._

She knew that being like this, being a Vyrewatch, meant she had to act more mature, give the humans of the city less to gawk at. Ever since her initial transformation, she'd been allowed to romp around the city of Meiyerditch like a little child, stirring up the dirt with wild abandon, scrambling into small places she should have never alerted the other humans to, and building up a fine collection of scratches—which healed rather quickly, to her luck—all over her skin from being slashed at by furious stray cats that she had trampled on the tails of. Sometimes the humans would give her odd looks and they were beginning not to take the Vampyres seriously because of her actions.  
She had already been ridden the riot act, so this was nothing new to her ears. She was completely adapted to being yelled at by her leading lord. If it wasn't one thing, it was certainly another. Lord Drakan must have found joy in reminding her of all the things she did wrong, whatever it would be this time. He always told her off for the same general reason, but for different things in a more broad point of view. She had been yelled at for portraying immature behaviors in front of the humans, skipping around cheerfully, being startled by smallish things like stray dogs, inflicting harm upon herself because of the stupid tricks she attempted to perform... She had been directly informed that her actions were causing unwanted reactions in the humans of the city. Thrice or so had other Vyrewatch had to have been called in to drag her away for her childish antics, which would be fine, if humans weren't watching. The humans would watch this and they began to sense a weakness in the Vampyres' power and authority over the city. They began to think, well, if this one can't behave, perhaps there are others. Once he had even gone as far as to blame Shadow for Vanescula's acting against his own rule, an event which, suffice to say, didn't end too well.  
Nonetheless, Shadow covertly knew he was correct. She was accepted into the royal family, she had finally grown her wings, she had the honor of being one of the Vyrewatch. Yet, she certainly had never shown she deserved this spot, though, she would never admit that aloud for the fear that certain people may overhear. A royal wasn't supposed to act like a newborn, exploring curiously and getting into loads of trouble over something foolish. To add to this, a Vyrewatch was supposed to strike fear into the hearts of the human populace. When a Vyrewatch walked—or flew—by, humans were meant to cower back, huddle against the sides of buildings, seek any shelter away from it's soulless eyes, and shudder for the fear that it may find them. For a human to react as so, it meant you were a qualified Vyrewatch. Shadow realized that when she walked by, humans did not act as so. They looked upon her with curious eyes, inching closer. Little children were brave enough to say hi to her and grab onto her leg; what was even more shameful was that their parents didn't stop them, for they didn't fear her. Shadow knew in her lifeless heart this was not correct. It broke the order of the Vampyre.  
It had been a week or so before anyone noticed Shadow's wings had grown in. How many humans knew she was a Vyrewatch already before someone was informed? How many of them had already taken a different view upon Vyrewatch because of her? One of the patrolling Vyrewatch must have noticed she was fully developed, because eventually someone reported to Ranis, Ranis informed Lord Drakan, and Lord Drakan eventually had Shadow called to his office in Castle Drakan to have a word with her about it. To be honest, it wasn't quite the lecture Shadow was expecting... Nor was she expecting a visit from Ranis himself...  
Ranis impatiently shook his long red wings out as he perched on the side of a crumbling building. He was quite a site to behold, a bat-winged, red skinned monster with long pointed ears and a flat snout with sharp teeth protruding out. He was adorned in rather skin-tight blue and black clothing and wore pale peach bracers on his arms. Even though he did not usually wear shoes in this form, for it made his talon-like feet feel cramped, but he did wear tall black shoes this time. Reason? He didn't need one. The city of Meiyerditch was extremely unnerving to him; he was much more used to the sheer gothic beauty of the royal city of Darkmeyer, not the rotting decay of Meiyerditch. He would have refused to go, but he was under the direct order of Lord Drakan to... it didn't matter what, to be completely honest. If Lord Drakan told you to do something, you did it, regardless of how inconvenient or idiotic it may be, and Lord Drakan seemed to be extremely skilled at handing out both sorts of tasks. So naturally, when Lord Drakan commanded Ranis to locate Shadow and bring her to him, there was no other choice for Ranis but to politely comply. Refusal was forbidden.  
His head tilted ever so slightly to the side, for Ranis had absolutely no idea where Shadow would be at. Shadow wasn't a highly predictable girl, at least not for Ranis' mind. Even the complex Vampyric mind of Ranis could not possibly predict the intricate pattern of actions that Shadow performed throughout the day. Sometimes, Ranis swore there was none. However, there had to be some pattern, as Ranis was intelligent enough to realize how easy it was for Vanstrom to pick up on them. Nonetheless, there was no way that Ranis was going to ask Vanstrom where he thought Shadow was. Vanstrom's pet was horrible enough; Harold startled even the most evil and cruel of Vampyres, but Vanstrom himself... Ranis would sooner face Lord Drakan's wrath.  
It was frustrating though, looking for Shadow in the sprawling ghettos of Meiyerditch. Looking for anyone in that wreck of a city was quite the task, like a human locating a needle in a haystack, but to find Shadow there was more like a human finding a needle in a silo of hay. Twice the inconvenient. Using comparisons was often different for a Vampyre then it was for a human. For example, a human would have extreme difficulty finding a needle in a haystack. Needles are quite small and hay is abundant, but, to a Vampyre, it was more like locating a boulder then a needle. For one, if the Vampyre watched the person put the needle in, they could simply read the person's mind for the needle's location. If they didn't see where it was, all they had to do was track the scent of metal. Needles smelled quite different then hay, for both were very different items. Thus, locating the needle would be no difficult task. Where to begin? Where to continue? If he just looked frivolously, he knew how long it would take to find her. Nevertheless, with no leads to follow, senseless searching seemed to be the only choice.  
Ranis raised his nose ever so slightly into the sky, taking in a deep breath of the surrounding air. Unfortunately, Meiyerditch had a strange collection of appalling and rancid scents with commonly blocked out the one scent you were attempting to pry out of the crowd in particular. Ranis' nose twitched slightly, but nothing came to him that seemed to assist him in his search. He was in fact just about to give up the Vampyric form of searching for someone and revert to a more lowly human form of searching when his ears flicked twice, picking up the sound of a human conversation not too far away. Instinctively, Ranis' head turned in the direction of the conversation. He was naturally used to listening in on humans. Not many humans were in Darkmeyer, but you'd be surprised how enterprising the ones who were stuck there were. Sometimes it paid to eavesdrop in on what they were saying. His advanced eyes instantly picked up on their locations. Two males, both devoid of most color and life and clothed in ripped rags, like the rest of the city. They were of near same height, both in poor health, the only difference was one's hair was a long, but colorless grey whereas the other man's was a short, but bright brown, almost too bright. Nonetheless, nothing outstandingly special, needless to say.  
They grey haired male lowered his head slightly, as if he figured that would block out his words from being heard by any nearby nosy Vampyres. "Did you see that Vampyre with the green wings?" He asked his friend, sounding a trifle excited, which was logical since not much happened to get excited over in Meiyerditch. Humans were always looking for chances to start rumors. Rumors were like Christmas in Meiyerditch; it was finally something to be happy over.  
"You mean that new one?" the brown haired male inquired in response, earning himself a quick nod from his friend as an answer. Upon receiving that nod, he returned it, quickly adding as well, "Yeah, I saw her. I see her all the time. Weird one, she is. What about her?" Ranis' ears flicked once more as he listened to them.  
Ranis wasn't sure, but he could tell the grey haired male was quite paranoid, possibly because he was so certain his conversation was being listened to. Humans were always afraid of angering the Vampyres with their conversations, which is why they kept them so private, quite, and quick. Even being near another human will sometimes raise the suspicion of a nearby Vampyre, prominently a Vyrewatch. But did they expect that he was nearby, or was it a more generalized paranoia? Ranis leaned forward a little to get a closer view on the humans.

_Screeeeech..._

Ranis snarled in irritation, for his movement on the floorboards had caused them to loll slightly out of place, producing the subtle, but evident, squealing noise they had just sounded. Was it enough for the humans to hear? "Well I heard..." The grey haired male stopped in the middle of the sentence, right as the floorboards screeched slightly. He quickly looked up in the sound's direction. Ranis knew he was close enough to be seem by the human and sure enough, the human's eyes eventually met with Ranis' shadowy figure perched on the route. "Agh! Vampyre! Can the conversation." Certainly enough, the human had heard the sound and located Ranis. The two fell immediately silent.  
There was no point in hiding now, Ranis figured, since they had already clearly spotted him on the building. Ranis already noticed the evident signs of a human attempting to avoid any further detection from a Vampyre. They had ceased their conversation in the middle of the sentence, wandering apart from one another as if they were simply passing through the same point of the city by chance and had never intended to meet up. The two of them refused to make eye contact with one another and wouldn't even look in Ranis' general direction anymore. Ranis, alongside any other half intelligent Vampyre, immediately recognized all these signs. They weren't truly fooling anyone, but sometimes Vampyres didn't care enough to further pressure the humans on their conversations and went about their business, as if the trick had really worked. So it became a general human misconception that acting like nothing exists will keep a Vampyre out of your business. These two were very probable to soon learn the fine degree to which they were wrong.  
Ranis released an earsplitting screech, a sound generally used to either inform other Vampyres you were going in either for an attack or towards prey, so they would react accordingly, or on rarer occasions, used to strike fear into humans the Vampyres planned on landing by to speak with. It was much easier to get half a word out of a human when they had it embedded in their mind you were going to sink your teeth into the soft flesh of their neck and tear it open. The two humans attempted to pretend like they didn't even notice the sound, but Ranis spotted the way they nearly jumped out of their skin and poorly endeavored to mask it. That had given them quite the start. His long, leathery wings spread open, stretching to nearly twice his height in length. He raised one clawed hand up as he released yet another deafening shriek, and he noticed the way one glanced up at him fearfully out of the corner of his eye. He knew, he knew Ranis was planning on confronting him, and he was secretly hoping Ranis may change his mind suddenly and conveniently. Rising to to a standing position, Ranis flapped his wings once, a thick current of air racing between the leathery surface, throwing him not more then a foot or two into the sky. Ranis could feel his feet floating lightly in the sky, the interesting sense it produced when you could tell your feet were leaving the comfort of the ground below. To him, the sky was just as comfortable as the ground, as was the water, the marsh, whatever he wanted to put his feet in, he gladly would. His wings flapped once more, twice more, thrice more. He kicked his feet high into the sky, stabilizing his position in the sky before making any movement towards the humans. He knew many Vyrewatch who never stabilized themselves, his sister being one of them, but he always did. Though unlikely, you could horribly injure yourself if you weren't stabilized before soaring away... unlikely, but possible. Ranis always preferred considering any negative possibilities and discarding them as quickly as possible.  
He could tell fear was rushing swiftly down the humans' spines. It was true, too. The two humans were absolutely terrified. They knew Ranis had been listening, probably the entire time, and they were petrified of what would happen if he landed by them to speak with them. The brown haired human was a little more spunky then his grey haired friend, and thus wasn't quite as afraid, but the two of them both realized how bad it would be, though if they'd had known who Ranis was, they probably would've ran for it rather then subtly, but briskly, wander away.  
Ranis landed with a slam in front of them, stirring up the dirt and dust which had taken countless months to settle in large piles on the ground. The two humans had to stop themselves from falling over, due to the shock produced by Ranis landing so suddenly and so nearby. The two of them coughed as a frenzy of dust swirled around them, taking any entry they could into their bodies in an attempt to block their oxygen flow or blind their vision. Ranis took a couple seconds to observe. The grey haired man was further away and was leaning against a wall while attempting to get control over his coughing. The brown haired man was much closer, nearly within touching distance of Ranis, and seemed to be a trifle more nonchalant over the flow of dust, though still bothered.  
Since the grey haired man seemed to know a bit more about the topic then his brown haired friend, Ranis figured he would be a better target for questioning then his brown haired companion. Thus he turned around quickly, peering over his shoulder, quickly honing in on the frail figure of the grey haired man. He hardly even noticed the other figure below him, drawing back in fear as he saw Ranis' colorless eyes up close. Vampyric eyes are usually either blazing red, or generally colorless. For Ranis, he fell into the colorless family. Upon hearing the gasp, he glanced below him silently. Certainly enough, the brown haired human was drawing back quickly in fear, but Ranis noticed the way he was unable to take his gaze off Ranis. New child, Ranis assumed, new enough, anyways. Often times, humans would gaze in Vampyric eyes, a clear fear beating rapidly in their fragile hearts and despite their extreme fear, they would be unable to look away and Ranis knew why. Seeing the colorless, or blazing, eyes of a Vampyre up close for the first time was a unique experience for a human, a visage their little minds would never forget. Fear is not forgotten easily, and a Vampyre can strike some of the most powerful and long lasting fear in a human heart. However, this was not who Ranis was interested in and with a frightening snarl he drew back a clawed hang and swatted the brown haired human aside. The human was unable to resist, flying away a short distance and landing with a thud and a timid squeal. He was unharmed, though. Shame, thought Ranis, he liked it when they bled.  
The brown haired human was attempting to recover, something he appeared to be having a difficult time completing. He had never been physically assaulted by one of the Vampyres—at least, not one of the Vyrewatch, those winged demons—before and it was a new feeling to him. He felt something, something he couldn't explain, racing up his arm when he had been swatted at. He couldn't explain it, but he felt somewhat weak, tired, maybe.  
Then, like a blur in the wind, Ranis pounced towards the grey haired human. The human hardly had time to react towards Ranis' outstanding speed. Within a matter of seconds and another horrifying screech, Ranis was upon the poor man, pushing him against the side of a slowly crumbling building and hovering over his small body, wings spread to make him look larger, one clawed hand on the ground, another raised up, ready to strike. He bared his sharp teeth hatefully at the human and could hear the beating of his heart quickly increase as fear trickled down his spine. Ranis almost purred in content at the sound of his rapidly beating heart. He absolutely reveled in the fear of humans. The way of which he hovered over the human and the awkward position the human had been forced into... it gave Ranis a clear advantage, though he already had many advantages over the human, sensory advantage, speed advantage, strength advantage, size advantage, and most importantly, an intelligence advantage. Ranis wasted no time in getting what he wanted. He lurched towards the human and loudly spat, "Tell me what you know!"  
The fear that he was insinuating in the grey haired human was quite evident. Everything about Ranis struck a grand degree of fear into the very core of the poor man, his posture, his voice, even what he was in general was enough to scare the man. Ranis, he was loving every second of this. "I have no idea what you're talking about, honestly!" the man replied in fear, very truthful to his word. He did not know for true what information Ranis wanted, but this did nothing in the way of convincing Ranis. Ranis knew.  
"Don't play old fool with me, human!" Ranis spat with discontent, leaning in closer towards the human in order to further scare him. "You know exactly what I am talking about. Don't attempt to pretend like I never heard your conversation." The human simply continued to shudder in fear as Ranis' voice rose slightly, mocking the small bit of the conversation he overheard. "Oh hello my pathetic friend! Did you see the Vampyre with the green wings! Oh no, don't keep talking! There's a Vampyre conveniently listening in on our conversation!" Ranis suddenly lashed out with his free clawed hand, clasping it around the man's throat, with every intent to squeeze if he must. His voice returned back to normal, which wasn't much more comforting for the human, as he snarled, "That conversation. Perhaps you remember it. You were going to talk about someone, someone I may just be looking for. So tell me where she is! Tell me now, or I'll crush your neck like a mosquito. It wouldn't be very difficult, you know?"  
The brown haired human had finally completely recovered and as so, was completely aware of his friend being threatened by the large, demonic creature we call Ranis. Needless to say, he wasn't too happy to see the creature threatening to crush his friend's neck and ran to defend. The brown haired human bolted swiftly up to Ranis, drawing back his hand and violently punching Ranis. It was all to convenient, though, that Ranis' wing just happened to sway ever so slightly to the side right as the punch was being thrown. As so, the punch harmlessly struck the thick leathery surface of Ranis' glistening red wing and thus caused no direct harm to Ranis himself. Furious, though, the human threw another punch at Ranis, which was once more conveniently reflected by Ranis' thick leathery wing. This time, the brown haired human grabbed the surface of Ranis' wing, pulling back on it. Without even looking over, Ranis reached over, twisted his clawed hand ever so slightly to the side, and immediately caused the brown haired man to lose his grip. Aware that Ranis was uncannily winning, though without even watching, the brown haired man simply rose to his feet and yelled bravely, though the fear in him was still present, at Ranis, "Leave him alone!" Finally, Ranis bothered to look over at the brown haired human. "He didn't do anything to you! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"  
Those were intended to be fighting words, but didn't quite come off in the manner he had hoped them to. Ranis just released a boisterous, booming laugh, a laughter which seemed to wrench it's way into the man's heart and slowly tear apart at it. "I would, but you don't seem to fit that description, now do you? Bug off, bloodsack." Ranis turned his attention back to the grey haired man right as the brown haired men growled in anger.  
Fists clenched and anger at the boiling point, the brown haired man decided to bring the fight to Ranis. Thus the brown haired man instantaneously charged for the unaware Vampyre, ready to strike him down in order to save his friend. He was literally inches from striking, when Ranis reacted unnaturally quickly and with deadly accurate precision. Without glancing over, Ranis nonchalantly wrapped his long, wretched fingers around the human's wrist, startling him and delaying his charge. Still not watching who he was fighting, Ranis proceeded to twist the man's wrist backwards, but not before he could reach forward with his free hand. Ranis reacted with perfect timing to that strike as well, still without actually watching his target. He quickly jerked the man's wrist backwards over his head, causing him to collapse in the dirt and exploiting his strike into failure. His right hand was still holding it's powerful grasp on the left wrist of the brown haired man. For the first time, Ranis turned to face his enemy, only to drive to heel of his shoe into the man's right hand, effectively pinning it to the ground. The man screamed loudly, blood rushing from his hand where Ranis had crushed it. This was only the beginning of the pain Ranis was going to cause this insolent human. Ranis was now kneeling over the body of the man, who was now struggling with his left hand in Ranis' powerful grip. It was all in vain, sadly. Without warning, Ranis placed his other hand very near the human's face to balance himself, tightened his grip on the man's wrist, then suddenly wrenched it to the side. The entire bone in the arm bent abnormally to the side and a horrifying snap all of a sudden echoed off the walls of the building as the bone in the man's arm could bend no further and tore apart. The brown haired human released a terrible wail, unable to calm himself at the extreme pain rushing through his body. All he could think about was his arm, how badly it hurt, the bone snapped clear in half. Ranis was smiling the entire time, for when the wails of the human reverberated through the city and into Ranis' ears, he could only feel pride and happiness welling up inside. Ranis utterly delighted in the pain of humans.  
Ranis released the human, stepping back to observe the man's reaction towards the damage inflicted upon him. Suffice to say, Ranis had been quite cruel in the process of dealing with the man. "My arm!" The man howled in perpetual pain. "Oh holy Saradomin my arm! It's not supposed to bend that way!" Ranis simply smirked as he detected tears jetting down the man's cheeks. The pain was endless, and Ranis loved it.  
"Your arm's not the only bone that can be bent in most unnatural ways." Ranis explained to the man with a devious smirk. He beamed in the direction of the grey haired man for a second before turning his attention back to his current victim. "There are plenty other bones that can be bent abnormally. Your wrist, for one." The man screamed once more as Ranis crushed the man's wrist, same arm, which only added to his pain. "Your ankle." He hissed proudly as he stepped upon the man's ankle this time, crushing it with a single step. "Your leg can be snapped as well." Ranis once again portrayed this as he grabbed the man's right leg, the same leg on which he crushed the ankle, and twisted it cruelly to the left until it to broke apart with a sickening snap, accompanied by another anguishing scream from the man. The man was absolutely ridden with fear, and it only grew worse as Ranis bent over, gently wrapped his snake-like fingers around the man's skull, glared directly into his eyes, and said with a sly grin, "But my favorite, is the neck."  
The brown haired man was completely overrun by fear. Any bravery or bravado he had before had been chased away by the sickly snapping sounds made by his bones as Ranis one by one broke them in half like mere toothpicks. Without any other way to go, the man closed his eyes, not wanting to look into the emotionless voids that were called eyes that bore into his very soul, and weakly plead, "P-please don't... Sp-spare me. Please..." He now choked on his words, certain there was nothing he could say to convince the heartless monster to leave him be.  
Ranis said absolutely nothing to the human. He simply turned aside with nothing more then a mere huff and glanced down upon the grey haired man who, despite being horrified, had been uninjured thus far. Ranis bent over in front of the man, not bothering to perform any threatening gestures. He simply motioned to the man's beaten and broken friend and said, "You can tell me what I want, or I can break you just like I did your friend. Your choice."  
"I-I submit..." The grey haired man timidly muttered, afraid that if he showed any signs of refusal, Ranis would snap him like a twig as well, leaving the two of them to rot and die with broken bones in the middle of the city. The grey haired man knew that without him around to assist, his friend would surely die. "I-I'll tell you what you want to know. Just please, don't hurt me..."  
Ranis smirked upon the human. "Very good." he coyly declared. Nonetheless, he held his position over the man, just in case he decided to act rashly, which would not be advised. "Now, where is she?" Ranis was being very calm all of the sudden, speaking in a relaxed, tranquil tone of voice, no bared teeth, no threats, complete serenity.  
The grey haired man coughed, a failed attempt to hide just how truly afraid he was of Ranis now. Though he still failed to recognize just how much power Ranis held over the general Vampyric race, he was intelligent enough to realize Ranis was powerful, even for a Vampyre. "The green winged Vampyre, the one you're looking for, she said something about a Vykio... or something like that. She was arguing with one of those little gargoyle-looking Vampyres." Ranis quickly corrected him, informing him that those are Juveniles. "Wh-whatever you call those little critters. Some kind of argument about wings and letting someone know. Then she just suddenly announced she was bored of him and something about a Vykio... whatever that is... Then she flew in that direction." His finger trembled as he pointed in a general northbound direction. "That's all I know, I swear!" He knew there was more to the story, much more... Nonetheless, Ranis only wanted to know where she was, and that, he had told him.  
For a moment or two, Ranis glared upon the grey haired human. He knew for a fact there was more to the story; he could sense it deep within the human's timid heart. However, not caring for the human and his blasphemous tall tales of Vampyric feats, he simply rose to his feet and declared. "Good, you will be spared for your obedience to me." Ranis heard him heave a sigh of relief, which only made him that much more ecstatic for what he was going to say next. "But your friend... he dies for his crimes against the Vampyres!"  
The grey haired man screamed his loud protests as Ranis approached the limp form of the brown haired man, who was finally coming to with his pain and attempting to recover from it was well as he could. He had not been entirely listening to the conversation between Ranis and his friend and thus was shocked when he looked up and saw Ranis hovering over him, his soulless eyes ripping a trench through his heart. Ranis said nothing, but he did smile upon the brown haired man as he gave Ranis a fearful gaze, a look that asked what he was doing. Ranis quickly answered that look. He drew back his shoe, rising it at an angle over the skull of the man. With outstanding speed and force, he brought it down upon the man's skull, giving him only a second to scream before his foot broke through the man's skull, crushing anything that existed inside. The man's skull caved in as Ranis brought his foot back out, now covered in the blood of the brown haired man. Ranis watched the scene in delight, the broken skull quickly collapsing, the blood pouring like a waterfall out of the side, and the horrified look on the face of the grey haired man as he watched his friend's skull being crushed.  
The grey haired man found it increasingly more difficult to rise to his feet, for he was trembling so violently from the event he just witnessed he could barely maintain himself. Finally able to stand, he timidly muttered, "N-no... Oh Saradomin... no." He turned to Ranis, a combination of fear and anger darting through his mind. He finally cried to the powerful Vampyre, "How could you!?" and raced to take revenge for his fallen comrade.  
This revenge was short lived, however, as before the man could strike, Ranis reached his hand out, wrapped it around the bottom of the man's neck, and lifted him ever so slightly off the ground. "I have just spared your life, a mercy I do not generally adorn upon unworthy bloodsacks such as yourself, and you show your thanks for attempting to assault me? Humans are pitiful." He suddenly threw the grey haired man to the ground and said with a hiss, looking down upon his shivering figure, "Do not try it again."  
With that, Ranis spread his wings and took to the sky, leaving the emotionally scarred human to consider the passed events on his own. He performed a swift u-turn, changing himself from a southern direction to the northerly direction the human had pointed him in. Before leaving, he took a deep whiff of the human's scent. If the human had steered him wrong, he could come back and feast upon his blood until he dropped dead. He then flew off, his wings producing a thick current of air under them as he flew. His eyes darted swiftly around as he continued further north. Vykio... Ranis knew exactly who that was. It was one of the Vyrewatch, quite a high ranking one too. He usually worked directly for Lord Drakan and spent a lot of time organizing his files, fetching him things, or simply listening to him ramble about his past. Ranis also knew well enough that Shadow and Vykio were close, outstandingly close. He never quite understood why, but he did understand that they shared a deep, probably unbreakable kinship with one another. He spotted many things along the way, wary humans wandering the city depths, attempting to locate anything of interest or at the very least, a place to hide; he spotted Vyrewatch of all shapes and sizes and wing colors, patrolling the streets to the best of their abilities and keeping a careful eye on the humans down below; he also caught sight of many lower ranking creatures on the Vampyric scale, namely the Juveniles and the Juvinates, both who usually kept to themselves as they were trying to keep their hostility in check. Lower ranked Vampyres were always scared that noble Vampyres such as Ranis were going to accuse them of having gone feral and throw them out of the city. That's why they were always so silent, always kept to themselves, always prowled places no one else bothered to go. They didn't want to start anything they would regret.  
Frustration was beginning to well up within Ranis, and he was highly considering sniffing out the human and tearing his heart out for daring to misguide a Vampyre noble. He had just, in fact, glanced curiously over his shoulder when the sound of a Vyrewatch taking to the sky caught his ears. First thing he noticed was the whooshing sounds, how quickly the Vyrewatch moved. Yet, he was amazed to hear a few initial swoops of the wings in the same location before this Vyrewatch began to move. Ranis was impressed, for he had located another Vampyre that stabilized his—or possibly her—self before taking to the sky. Ranis tilted his head the smallest bit to the side, wondering who it could be, when a figure flew into his sight.  
This creature looked both human and Vampyre at the same time, an ability that Ranis had come to know quite well. It was a form known as subhuman form, a unique Vampyric form in which Vampyres were quite literally both human and Vampyre at the same time. The anatomy appeared human, the skin was usually a more regular color, not the general off white that most Vyrewatch had. There were a few exceptions, Ranis and his sister, Vanstrom Klause... but most Vyrewatch had either off white or possibly grey skin. Besides fangs, which a Vampyre would have in every form save for mist, the other evident Vampyric feature in a Vampyre in subhuman form were the bat-like wings, of a color which usually portrayed their rank, though not always perfectly accurate. The wings weren't as long in subhuman form as they were in full Vampyre form, but anyone could still clearly see they were there. Ranis recognized the filmy green wings, the messy blond hair, and most importantly, the fact that this Vyrewatch was still wearing the old black and grey Vampyric uniform, which seldom few Vampyres still wore. This, was Vykio.  
Vykio had spotted Ranis anyways, but that didn't stop Ranis from calling out to the young, eager Vyrewatch, "Hey Vykio! Come here for a moment. I need to speak with you." Ranis decided not to tear out the human's heart... for now, since thus far, he'd been correct.  
"Yes sir!" Vykio responded eagerly, flying towards Ranis even though Ranis was almost certain Vykio was already going to address him in the first place, even if only for a moment. You see, Vampyres didn't usually use their mind reading powers on their own kind because they saw it as a direct form of disrespect to read someone's mind. The Vampyres respected one another, so they never read each others minds; but they didn't respect humans at all, so they always read the minds of humans. That was how Ranis had so easily bested the human in combat without even looking at him. He read the human's mind and knowing every exact move the human was going to make made it so he could react accordingly without even having to waver his attention. "Can I help you, Sir Ranis?"  
Ranis couldn't help but beam for a moment as Vykio addressed him so properly. A lot of people simply addressed him as 'Ranis', whereas they would turn around and address his sister as 'Lady Vanescula'. It made Ranis feel like he wasn't as highly respected as his own sister and at most times; it made him feel pitiful. For Vykio to use such a dignified title on his own accord, it meant the young Vyrewatch respected Ranis. Ranis liked to see there were still some out there that respected who he was. He finally was able to trash his ego, refusing to let it waver his intentions, and respond, "Yes you can, Vykio. Have you seen Shadow around here, by chance? Lord Drakan sent me to fetch her and I'm seeming to find it increasingly difficult to locate her."  
Vykio threw a smile upon Ranis, a look he often used towards the other Vampyres. "Well, you're in luck, sir." Vykio eagerly replied, finally throwing that corny grin off his face and retaining the more serious expression a Vyrewatch was meant to bear. "I just finished talking to her not thirty seconds ago. She's still down in that clearing, sir." Ranis gazed downwards with Vykio's finger and certainly enough, he could make out a small figure down there.  
"Good." Ranis said straightforwardly to Vykio. "You've done well, Vykio." It felt awkward to Ranis to say 'thank you' or 'you're welcome' to anyone other then someone higher up then him... and even that made him uncomfortable, for he felt those words degraded you as a being, that they were a direct sign of weakness. Ranis refused to ever show the slightest sign of weakness and thus being forced to thank someone or anything of the latter caused him to whip out with a great shudder. Even the thought of it made him shudder inwardly.  
"It was nothing, sir." Vykio responded politely. Ranis found it nearly impossible to mask his shudder. Even hearing someone else using a form of 'you're welcome' was enough to give Ranis the shivers. It was one thing to hear lesser beings say it, but to listen to a perfectly, not to mention highly, qualified Vyrewatch say it was a bit too much for him. However, he couldn't bring himself to point this out to Vykio.  
Since Ranis was unable to correct Vykio for saying such a thing without feeling remorse for correcting an eager young Vyrewatch, and with nothing else to be said in this conversation—a conversation which, soon became clear to Ranis, Vykio was waiting for him to finish—Ranis quickly responded, "Yes, well, that's quite fine." He felt a trifle on the awkward side, for now it seemed as if he were repeating himself in a rather uncomfortable fashion. He attempted to waver the discomforting conversation by adding, "Well, you must be on your way, then."  
Luckily for Ranis, Vykio was a very dignified and qualified Vampyre. When a higher ranked Vampyre told him to do something, he wasn't one of those young whelps that added further queries as to why he was asked to do this task and what purpose it was going to hold. He simply agreed with a valiant, "Yes sir!" and turned in a different direction, swiftly flying off without another word. Ranis always thought Vykio was one of the more qualified Vyrewatch and made an inward note to put in a good word for him next time he idly spoke to Lord Drakan.  
As soon as Vykio had departed from the airspace, Ranis wasted absolutely no time in flying down on Shadow's location. Far as he was concerned, the quicker he spoke to her and brought her to Lord Drakan the better. Lord Drakan was a wonderful man, no doubt, but he was quite hasty and had a nasty habit of being widely on the impatient side. When you were commanded by Lord Drakan, it was a race to finish as quickly as possible. Ranis could make out Shadow's features better as he neared her. She was adorned in a skin-tight black outfit, which sort of looked like what a human might call a bathing suit. Dark grey pieces of clothing ran up her arms and legs, stopping a few inches before they reached her clothing otherwise. She wore a brace around her neck which was white and spiked. She also wore tall black boots. Ranis could see her long, dark brown hair flowing in the wind. She had long green wings, which had definitely grown since Ranis had last seen her. The outfit was very much like one of the old Vyrewatch uniforms, save for the spiked bracelets she adorned, not to mention the V shaped necklace Ranis noticed she was wearing. Ranis wondered... where did she get that? He had seen Vanstrom wearing one before, but surely it couldn't be his. Could it? Very unlikely, as the two were mortal enemies on every sense of the word and Vanstrom would've torn Shadow's head off for touching his necklace.  
As Ranis' feet touching the ground, he closed his eyes. He felt the way he was light on his feet as he touched the ground. His fingertips met with one another as he reached the ground. He could feel his Vampyric features fading away. His tall ears shrunk down to side. He could feel the awkward feeling of his wings racing back into his shoulder blades, a phenomenon he never seemed to be able to explain, sadly. His face flattened, no longer bearing a snout, though still bearing sharp, fanged teeth. He could feel his claws retracting, as with the talons on his feet. He opened his eyes and gazed upon his hand, watching as the red coloring seemed to rush oddly away and change to a light and awkward pale. Another thing he could never explain was how his clothes lengthened. Maybe they were always this length and the size of Vyrewatch form made them appear small. Maybe his clothes in his two forms were separate from one another... He probably would never know. His outfit was still black and blue as per usual, but now it had long sleeves and was longer in length, appearing like a robe. He held up a single hand, the left hand, now with fingers instead of claws, and ran it across his head. He sighed gently as his fingers passed through the short, soft black hair that now adorned his head. Ranis knew he was now entirely in his human form. He knew that Shadow preferred talking with Vampyres who weren't in full Vampyric form and Ranis rarely went into subhuman form. It was fully human or fully Vampyre for him... not both. As the last of his features went towards their human side, he took a gentle step forward. However, he had misjudged Shadow's hearing abilities as a Vampyre and was a little astonished to see her turning her head back after only one cautious step. It took Ranis a moment to realize he still had his fingertips on his right hand jutted out sharply, as if he still had claws with which he were planning to strike someone with. Upon realizing this, he swiftly relaxed his fingers, hoping Shadow hadn't noticed his tension. Luckily, it appeared that she hadn't.  
Shadow smiled, a more comfortable smile then what Vykio usually did. This one didn't unnerve Ranis as much as Vykio's did. Upon seeing Ranis standing in front of her, happy to see he was in human form, Shadow gently announced, "I see you came to speak with me, Ranis. What can I help you with?"  
Ranis and Shadow were on pretty good terms with one another. Initially, their meeting was very tense, but mostly due to the presence of people which did not like each other very much, needless to say. During their first meeting, Malak and Dessous were arguing about land, Vanstrom was making it difficult for Shadow to enjoy herself with his senseless snide commentary, and Ranis couldn't help but continuously argue with everything his sister said. To make it a more generalized event, everyone except Lord Drakan had found someone to argue with that day. It made their meeting a little unnerving, to say the least. One day, though, Ranis happened to walk in on Shadow and Vanescula arguing over blood tithes and the argument ended with Shadow declaring Vanescula a 'brainless moron' and quickly departing. Ranis, amused to see Shadow hated his sister too, decided to give Shadow a second chance. Needless to say, the two became quick friends.  
Ranis again wasted no time in getting to the point. If he strayed from the topic by even the slightest, he knew idle conversation would draw over them and they would spend countless hours chatting to one another, only for Ranis to eventually realized he had made Lord Drakan wait and get accordingly chewed out for his insolence. "Shadow, Lord Drakan wishes to speak to you immediately." Ranis said, making certain he sounded as official as possible so Shadow wouldn't find an excuse to start an idle conversation.  
"Is that so?" Shadow asked a bit too cheerfully, tilting her head to the side with a smile. Ranis refused to smile back. He was going to make certain this meeting remained official and nothing more. "Well, I guess it was only inevitable that he eventually find out I was hiding my newly grown wings from him." She signed dejectedly, as if she knew that debate weren't going to end well. "Oh well, this won't be the first time Lord Drakan has yelled at me for my impudence." In fact, she had gotten a lecture similar to that not too long ago.  
Making certain to be as straightforward as physically possible, Ranis replied, "Naturally." he felt he was being a bit too nonchalant and quickly continued, "He will meet you where he always does, in his office within the depths of Castle Drakan. I advise you make haste." Ranis didn't want to have to go with her and, to be technical, Lord Drakan had just told Ranis to get her to the castle; he never said Ranis had to come along. He didn't want to come along, not now, anyways, for he was again worried about the risk of idle conversation.  
Shadow nodded kindly upon Ranis; she always held a very relaxed and polite gaze towards Ranis, something that could either be very relaxing or very unnerving depending on the occasion. "Thank you, Ranis." Ranis shivered once more upon hearing those thanking words. He had to intertwine his fingers between one another and relax his breathing in order to ignore that. "I'll be on my way, then."  
Ranis watched in utter silence as Shadow turned away from him. She bent over slightly, the tips of her fingers just barely touching the ground below. She pushed off the ground suddenly, leaping a few feet off the earth below, her shadow skulking darkly below her. Ranis watched how awkwardly her wings flapped, as if it were clear she weren't quite used to flying yet. It became quickly evident to Ranis just how new she was; any Vyrewatch, or anyone who had seen a Vyrewatch fly, could see it. The way she pushed herself off the ground to gain air rather then just flap her wings to levitate herself into the sky, the was her wings rushed far too rapidly, something which Ranis was worried she would hurt herself doing. She wasn't a hummingbird, she was a Vyrewatch. Her wings were far more comparable to a bat or a dragon then a bird. Ranis knew that if she flapped those wings too quickly she would lose altitude at a rapid pace and would probably not recover properly if she began to crash. However, Ranis knew arguing with Shadow was useless, for she hardly even listened to a word anyone said. Sometimes she even disregarded anything Lord Drakan told her. Ranis wondered if there was anyone Shadow truly listening to when they were talking. Ranis was at least happy to see Shadow had taken to stabilizing herself in the sky, though he was pretty sure she was only performing such a task because flying was a rather unnerving task for her to perform. Eventually, she gained enough altitude, felt a feeling of bravery rush into her spine, then flew off quickly, leaving a gust of wing behind for Ranis to turn away from. Then with that, her silhouette faded over the horizon of Meiyerditch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Lords of the Vampyres ****  
****Not quite the whole story**

Shadow finally landed in front of the looming mass that was Castle Drakan. Her landing was certainly not graceful, her wings flapping at an awkward direction. It was quite clear she was fighting with her newly grown wings, attempting to figure out how quickly or slowly to flap them in order to land. She finally touched toes with the ground. It for certain was no elegant landing, it wouldn't win any awards, but she didn't fall over this time and that was certainly a good place to start. Now she was able to gaze up upon Castle Drakan as her wings folded behind her back. It was a very old castle, worn down over the years from the lack of concern and the poor care given to it by it's current caretaker, a man who didn't particularly care for preserving the castle just as long as he could live within it's wall. It was still a very majestic and very beautiful sight, with an ancient medieval build and a darkly, but gothic beauty outlining it's walls. The castle itself was made out of old stone blocks, each one hand-carved and thus each individually plastered stone was different. Shadow knew this castle was made back in the ancient days of Hallowvale, back when the city and it's surrounding lands were controlled by the majestic angel-like creatures known as the Icyene. However, the Vampyres proved too powerful for the Icyene and eventually, they were forced to surrender. That story used to be a mystery to Shadow and now, now she knew it a trifle too well.  
The guards at the door seemed to be completely focused, not even wavering their attention to look at Shadow. These guards were dressed in the latest Vampyric garments and were wielding long weapons with a claw-like point. Shadow couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief. The guards at the gates of Castle Drakan rotated often and sometimes there would be two rather distracted, but very hostile guards wielding very long, enormous axes. Shadow herself found she never liked those guards, for she knew they slaved away in Vanstrom's legion of Vampyres, the very legion that were against her existence. She didn't recognize these guards, but was intelligent enough to realize by their weapon choice that they weren't Vanstrom's—they looked more like Lord Drakan's—and that was enough to bring her somewhat ease of mind.  
Upon approached the door, the guards reacted accordingly. The two of them snapped to attention, a furious state of focus which seemed almost paranoid, but Shadow knew that it had to be done. Some of the Vyrewatch were getting a trifle on the touchy side, feeling as if Lord Drakan were spending more time lurking inside his castle and not enough time focusing on their needs. No one knew for a fact what was going on in these rouge creatures' minds, but Lord Drakan certainly wasn't taking any chances either. Thus, his guards were always at the peak of attention, and it was nothing new when they lashed their weapons out in an x-shape in front of the door, blocking off Shadow's entrance. She wasn't startled; quite the contrary, she was entirely expecting it. "Stop where you are." the first guard ordered loudly, speaking with a booming voice that echoed in Shadow's ears.  
"State your business." the second guard added, speaking just as loudly as the first had. "Lord Drakan is a very busy man and doesn't have time to deal with you rouges complaining about a lack of blood." Shadow resisted the urge to snarl at the guard, insulted that she was mistaken for one of the rouges. However, she knew being rude to the guards wasn't the best way to gain access to the castle, so she kept her commentary to herself. "If that's what you came for, leave now. Otherwise, state your business."  
"I am Shadow, the metaphorically labeled daughter of Lord Lowerniel Vegidiyad Drakan." she began boldly, making certain not to waver her expression in the slightest to the proud and valiant guards, for she knew is the cracked by even the slightest, they would refuse to believe her words. "I have been called to Castle Drakan by Lord Drakan himself to speak with him. Ranis fetched me, so if you don't believe my words, you can ask him as well."  
The two guards glared silently upon Shadow and for a moment, she was worried they didn't believe her words. She didn't attempt to argue, though, for she knew that would amount to absolutely nothing useful. They turned to one another, muttering words that not even Shadow's highly trained ears could detect. After a minute or two of muttering with one another, they finally turned back to Shadow, who was trying her hardest to mask her hopeful expression. Eventually, the first guard responded, "Your access is granted, Lady Shadow." Shadow tilted her head, unsure why he used the title 'Lady' when he spoke her name. "Lord Drakan awaits you."  
The two drew their weapons apart, creating a path between them and the door that had otherwise impassable. Before Shadow could even complete a single step, the second guard interrupted her, causing her to glance over into his blazing red eyes as he hissed slightly, "Do not make Lord Drakan wait. Our Lord does not like waiting." He was acting as if Shadow had never met Lord Drakan before. She knew him, she knew of all it upsides, his quirks... she didn't know a lot, but she knew far more then some of the other Vampyres did. Nonetheless, she did nothing more then nod gently to the guard as he reached over, opening the large door for her and gesturing her in. She cautiously proceeded through the large, wooden double doors and stopped for a moment as the guards pushed it back shut behind it, the slam echoing through the near-empty halls of Castle Drakan as it was released.  
The guards on the inside of the door turned their attention to Shadow as she entered. Guards were usually more nonchalant to people going to opposite direction of which they were guarding the door. If a guard was making certain only specific people went in, he usually didn't pay much attention to those leaving; likewise, if the guard's duty was to make certain only those allowed exited, they were usually daily indifferent towards those entering. These guards portrayed that fairly well, for they simply stood there, silent, motionless, gripping their pronged weapons. One nodded silently to Shadow and quietly muttered, "Lord Drakan awaits, my lady." then fell silent.  
For a moment, Shadow felt driven to inquire upon them about the use of the term 'Lady' once again. She once more decided against it, figuring someone such as Lord Drakan would explain this to her when the time came. Either that, or she was simply hearing things. Regardless, she preferred acting as if that never happened. The guards didn't seem too inclined towards nonchalant conversation nonetheless, which was nothing new since they were trying to focus on their jobs as guards, for Lord Drakan was very nit-picky on the degree of their performance.  
Shadow knew Castle Drakan nearly top down, or at least, the important locations were at. She knew how to get to all the royal rooms, Ranis' room, Vanescula's room, Vanstrom's room, even Lord Drakan's room, which just happened to be conveniently close to Vanstrom's. In fact, the only thing separating Lord Drakan and Vanstrom's rooms was a single hallway, which was usually blocked off from any and all access by boxes stacked high, placed there purposely to restrict any access. However, Shadow had been in that room before, it was a dining hall, with a kitchen hidden behind it. Since Vampyres didn't eat, Lord Drakan found it was better if no one went in that room. However, she once entered that room when Lord Drakan opened it for a 'dinner' party of the noble family. Shadow was invited so she could meet the noble family and get to know them all. It was a tense situation and an awkward story followed which Shadow would never have enough time to explain. As Shadow ventured the long, quiet halls of Castle Drakan, she found it to be unusually empty, even for the castle. Any Vampyres she did pass generally avoided her, by either turning around, ducking into another room, or lowering their heads when they passed her if they absolutely had to pass by her. The Vampyres in Castle Drakan were always a trifle on the touchy side, some being completely restricted from access to the outside world, so Shadow didn't pay much heed to their awkward behavior. Her nose twitched slightly as she wandered past one of the rooms, a powerful scent of O type blood wafting into her nostrils. She couldn't help but stop, glancing into the room. Shadow knew that O type blood was a delicacy on Vampyric terms and thus was rarely fed upon. From what she heard, only the nobles and a select few others commanded by the nobles were permitted to drink that blood. Usually, Vampyres drank O blood when they had something to celebrate about. Shadow was a little startled when she looked into the room and was met with a gaze of extreme hate, vibrating from blood red eyes bearing deeply into her mind. She instantly recognized the darkly figure glaring upon her, adorned in long waving red robes with his unnaturally white hair in a fine mess, as always. Standing in the room was Vanstrom Klause, two of his guards—the ones with the large axes—lurking prominently behind him. Shadow shuddered at Vanstrom's snarling gaze, the complete hatred flickering in his eyes as he looked upon his pitiful figure. It became unnerving to Shadow and it didn't take long for her to quickly proceed to leave Vanstrom's line of sight.  
Vanstrom observed quietly as Shadow came into his line of sight, his dark eyes narrowing in on her. He remained ever silent, spiteful thoughts swirling through his mind like a whirlwind until she no longer stood there. Once he was alone, he lowered his head, snarling to himself, then said to one of his guards without turning his head, "When are we to begin the plan?"  
"Very soon, my Lord Vanstrom." replied the guard on the right side, loosing his grip on his axe by just a little, though unaware that he was doing so. "She will be meeting with Lord Drakan, no doubt about her status as a Vyrewatch. We will proceed as soon as she is clear from the castle."  
Upon hearing his guard's response, Vanstrom looked back upwards. He couldn't help but smirk to himself for a second. Vanstrom knew for a fact he was no Lord, that was a title bestowed only upon Lord Drakan himself. However, Vanstrom always liked to think about a day where he would rule, a day where Lord Drakan would be running back and forth as nothing more then 'Drakan' performing Vanstrom's will. He imagined that one day there would be a time where Vanstrom's word was final. Those plans were for later, though. He planned on putting those plans in motion once his problem was finely out of the way. "And you are certain she will leave the castle?" Vanstrom inquired to his guard.  
The guard finally realized he was losing his grip on his axe and thus tightened it accordingly. Thereupon he responded to Vanstrom seriously, "Shadow does not feel great comfort within the walls of Castle Drakan. This is am aware of, my lord. She will be outside soon." Before Vanstrom could add another comment, the guard then decided to continue by adding, "I also overheard she has been given entry into Darkmeyer. The independence in Darkmeyer should make your task a trifle more simplistic."  
With another devious smirk, Vanstrom responded, "Good." He seemed unaware that he had been interrupted or simply didn't care enough to comment. He spoke with a creepy, yet elegant voice as he continued. "I imagine my plans will go quite well. I expect only the best from each and every one of you. Do not let me down." He sat down his empty glass, stained with the deep red of the blood which he had been drinking. "Now come, we've got business to attend to." Vanstrom's two guards copied him, for they also sat down their drinks alongside his, even if they weren't finished, and followed him silently as he left the room behind. Vanstrom was smirking to himself all the way out.  
Meanwhile, Shadow was on her way to Lord Drakan's quarters, trying to get over the unnerving feeling left behind from Vanstrom's dark glare. Those two never liked one another, and the longer Shadow thought about it, the more she realized nothing probably would have changed that. They met each other on bad terms, for one. Shadow had gotten lost in Castle Drakan not too long after Lord Drakan changed her into a Vampyre. She found the signs for the doors and followed them, but someone must have moved the signs, for she found herself skulking outside Vanstrom's room rather then Lord Drakan's. Vanstrom struck with extremely violent intentions, and he probably would have maimed her had she not rushed into Lord Drakan's room. Shadow used to wonder... if she had never met Vanstrom on such bad terms, could they have gotten along? Shadow began to realize as the years passed that the answer was sadly no. Ever since day one Shadow realized Vanstrom had it out for her, and there were some times she wondered if Vanstrom even had it out for her before she became a Vampyre. Was Vanstrom watching her human life... observing her? Did he secretly know she would one day be one of them... was he waiting to strike when that day happened? Regardless, Shadow knew their was no chance for them. Her best choice was to simply avoid Vanstrom altogether.  
A couple minutes later, Shadow found herself standing in front of Lord Drakan's door, gazing thoughtfully upon it. There was nothing outstandingly impressive about the door to Lord Drakan's office. Fact be it, it looked just like any other door within the walls of Castle Drakan. Shadow gulped slightly, gazing behind her, for she was always worried the Vampyres of the castle were watching her, even though they pretended to avoid her by all means necessary. Shadow could sense a thick degree of discomfort in most of the Vampyres living in the castle. They were unnerved, they were paranoid, and most of all, they were bored.  
Shaking any other thoughts out of the depths of her mind, for she knew it would distract her when she spoke to Lord Drakan, she finally reached out her hand, her fingers curved in a most gentle fist, and softly knocked upon the side of the door. It took a moment for anyone to respond, and Shadow was highly considering hazarding another knock upon the side of the door when a deep voice finally answered in an impatient sounding tone, "What is it? I am very busy!"  
It had now occurred to Shadow that Lord Drakan was growing rather unforbearing, a trifle hasty in his waiting for his guest to arrive. At first, Shadow wanted to feel bad, then she realized that it wasn't truly her fault and how unlikely it was that Lord Drakan was actually planning on doing something else soon anyways. He spent his hours locked in his room, organizing papers, reading over reports for the first time despite the fact that he told the other Vampyres he had already read them, or obsessing over a strange stone which Shadow had never seen closely enough to get a description of it. She heard that anyone who saw the stone was dealt with swiftly, thus as much as Shadow would have liked to know more about the stone, she wasn't keen upon the sound of being swiftly dealt with. Those words weren't good, that was especially true coming out of Lord Drakan's mouth.  
"It is I, sir, Shadow." Shadow announced politely, making sure she didn't say anything to offend Lord Drakan. She was able to get away with certain comments that other Vampyres couldn't, but even she had to be careful of where to draw the line. Lord Drakan was an easily offended man, given to the fact that his ego was evidently on the large side. Suffice to say, you had to watch every word that came out of your mouth, something Shadow often failed to do once they got deeply into a conversation. "Ranis said you wished to speak with me."  
A short pause engulfed the room. Shadow's ears flicked as she caught the sound of a drawer opening up. There was a quick but evident clunk and the drawer sounded as if it were rapidly closed once more. After that, Lord Drakan finally called out, "Well, it's about time! I don't know who you two think you are making me wait like this." Shadow resisted the powerful urge to interrupt him in the middle of his sentence before recalling how ill-advised that was. "Ah, but I guess you did arrive. Come in, Shadow, darling. The door's open."  
That was very typical of Lord Drakan, can't be bothered to get up and open his door. He would always complain about people barging senselessly into his room, but everyone attempted to remind him that if he would just lock the door, no one would barge in. He had a lock, Shadow of all people should know this best. He just refused to ever use it. He claimed locking the door wouldn't help anything, but most people were intelligent enough to realize he was a difficult man, and he would lock the door because he knew he would have to actually get up off his lazy rear end to unlock it. Of course, no one was foolish enough to say that directly to Lord Drakan's face. Telling him this was like signing your own death warrant. Needless to say, it was ill advised.  
With a gentle touch, Shadow reached out towards the shimmery doorknob, taking note of how it's silver surface seemed almost too well polished. Her fingers wrapped awkwardly around it and she almost felt out of place for a moment. Why, Shadow didn't know. It wasn't as if this were the first time she had laid fingers on his doorknob, though this was notably the first time she took personal note of just how shiny it truly was. The way she turned it was so very slowly, almost as if she were releasing her nerves and tension onto the door itself, afraid to twist the knob fully and peel the creaky old door open. Light rushed swiftly into the dark room as she opened the door, a clear sign that Lord Drakan had been locked in here for quite a long time. Shadow had to wonder as she opened the door, when was the last time Lord Drakan had actually left the castle? He never informed anyone when he left anymore. When Lord Drakan wanted to leave Castle Drakan or Darkmeyer or even the region of Morytania in general, he seldom made his intentions clear any further. He just left, leaving everyone else under the impression that he was still in Castle Drakan. Sometimes he would return suddenly to everyone's surprise; where as on other occasions he would leave for a while and fly back into the castle when no one was truly paying attention, making it appear as if he had never left to begin with. Shadow thought it was great that he got out—obsessing over the rock certainly can't be healthy—but wished that he wouldn't do so in such a covert manner.  
Even before the light reached him, Shadow could see Lord Drakan's silhouette woven in the darkness of the room, almost unmoving, quite unnatural. The light revealed him to her and she gasped in shock, for Lord Drakan had changed his attire since they last saw each other. He looked almost like a different man. For one, he changed the white streaks in his hair, they were now embedded in a crisscross pattern on the left side of his head, rather then three thick streaks in an orderly fashion. He was now wearing a shirt in a burgundy color, contrary to his old one which was nothing of the sort. He was wearing a rather formal looking black coat, which fit tightly over his skin. I took note that even though his pants were the same color, they no longer had that glowing green bit at the bottom. His shoes looked the same, except for the missing green stripe, but were no longer boots, instead basic shoes. He still had the same cape, which seemed to be one of the only things that he had not changed at all, that same interesting dark red cape with the two dark blue stripes. The other features that remained unchanged were his gloves, which were still clear red, and his pendant, which still glowed a vivid shade of red. However, the most notable bit was the soft blue scarf, which was tied securely around Lord Drakan's neck.  
Shadow was unable to hold back her shock from Lord Drakan's new attire, and eventually choked out the words against her will, "What did you do to yourself?"  
Lord Drakan narrowed his eyes momentarily, as if he were not pleased by Shadow's question. Lord Drakan didn't like when his guests spoke before him, but he softened his gaze, for he realized his outlandish new attire must have been attracting some attention. "I do apologize for the attire change. I assure you, only the hair is permanent." Shadow could only tilt her head uncertainly to the side. "My tailor thought I should own more formal attire. I do promise, this will only be used for events of the utmost importance. I myself do not find this outfit very comforting, nor is it really my style. I would change back, but it seems my tailor took my clothes and I'm waiting for him to return them."  
"Have you ever considered just going to find him?" Shadow inquired, very subtly suggesting that he was lazy and needed to get up. Luckily, he either didn't notice her insidious commentary or didn't care enough to react on them, for not even the slightest flicker of anger rushed through him.  
"I cannot be bothered to hunt down my tailor." Lord Drakan replied calmly, folding his fingers between each other as he spoke. "No, he will return when he is quite ready and he will be lucky that I don't smite him for suggesting I should gallivant around in such ridiculous attire. Now, that is not what I called you for." She could see the exasperation embedded in Lord Drakan's face. He truly wanted his old outfit back. Shadow was tempted to offer, but realized she would be rudely changing the topic on Lord Drakan. Thus she decided against it.  
Hoping to get Lord Drakan's mind completely off his outfit, for she could still tell he was secretly thinking about it, she announced, "So, what was it you wanted to speak to me about?" She made sure her voice was prominently loud, hoping to distract Lord Drakan's mind for a moment.  
It appeared to work, as a blank look entered Lord Drakan's eyes for a fraction of a second, as if he had suddenly forgotten something very important. "Hmm?" he mumbled quietly, seemingly lost in thought. "Oh yes, the reason I called you here." Lord Drakan seemed to have focused on a new topic, completely forgetting of his current outfit and how much he desired to change back to his regular attire. "Well, I see you're aware that you are now a Vyrewatch." Shadow nodded, not wanting to verbally interrupt him. "Though I am upset to find you hide it from me, that feeling seemed to be etched out by a feeling of pride at the speed of which you have evolved. I can say, my dear, you have broken a record or two in your transformation to Vyrewatch." He lowered his head a little, rhythmically rapping his fingers on the wooden surface of his desk. "Nonetheless, now that you are a Vyrewatch, much will change for you. For one, you now have full access to the city of Darkmeyer. You may come and go as you please. I figure you will find your new title as lady fitting, enough to get you an ounce of respect from the lower tiered Vampyres." Shadow was glad to know the reason behind all the other Vampyres dubbing her 'Lady Shadow' all of the sudden. Lord Drakan must have informed them all before she had been told of this. "Of course, I figure you are aware of what the standards of being a Vyrewatch are, so do make sure not to let me down. The humans see fear in your kind and if you play your cards properly, they will come to fear the very sound of your name." For some reason, that sentence caused Shadow to think about Vanstrom. "As of today, you are now an official member of the noble family and thus have some will over lower tier Vampyres. Do not abuse this, however." Shadow could almost see the thoughts scrawling through his mind as he attempted to organize through the mess of them, the whole lot. He wanted to make sure he covered everything now, so he wouldn't have to foolishly call her back later in order to add on a detail that he had forgotten. "Ah yes, I shall present you with a high tiered Vampyric weapon, you may choose whether or not to wield it. Though if you choose not to, must I remind you that there will be times when it will be required to be wielded over your other weapon choice."  
Shadow gazed quietly to the side as Lord Drakan motioned across the room with a single hand, pointing to a weapon leaning against the wall, carefully positioned so it would not collapse. It was one of those awkward pronged weapons, the ones that were shaped like an animal's claws. She looked the weapon over, noticing there was also a capsule attached at the bottom, which was met with a thin needle. It didn't take Shadow long to realize what that was meant for, of course, as it was quite obviously a more careful and organized means of draining and collecting blood.  
Lord Drakan nonchalantly nudged his head in the weapon's general direction, motioning for Shadow to take it. It took her a moment, but she finally wandered across the dark reaches of Lord Drakan's room, cautiously taking claim of the awkward weapon. It didn't quite feel right in her grip. It felt a bit too large, a trifle too heavy, and she decided at that exact moment that was interesting as the weapon was, she was going to stick with her purple tipped spear. Nonetheless, she remained indifferent expression wise about the weapon, turning back to Lord Drakan.  
Upon realizing Shadow's eyes were once again upon him, gazing with that interesting curiosity they prominently flickered with, Lord Drakan finished his train of thought, announcing once more, "Alright, well, the last thing I would like to inform you of is that you now have a Juvinate working under you. I am working on finding a second on as well, but Vampyres aren't as high in numbers as they used to be and I have to locate one who is not busy with other work." Shadow had never had someone toiling away under her before; she was actually quite interested in that factor. "His name is Arik Weston, very qualified young man. He should serve you well. He should be waiting in the feeding chamber for you, so don't forget to visit him." He fell silent for a moment, as if making certain he had explaining everything that was on his mind. "Well, that's all I've got for you. So be off, then!"  
Shadow politely bowed for Lord Drakan, which she did often for him to show respect towards him. To be completely honest, Shadow felt rather happy that Lord Drakan had not turned this into a lengthy debate, for she was not interested in getting into an argument with him. "Thank you, my lord." she thanked graciously.  
"Oh yes, Shadow, darling!" Lord Drakan called to Shadow as she turned on her heel. This caused her to glance over her shoulder, looking into his eyes curiously, wondering what else he could want from her. "There was one more thing I wanted to tell you. Malak will need you to visit him in Canifis. As a Vampyre of Vyrewatch rank, you are required to renew the blood sample collected from you. Vyrewatch blood is prominently different from Juvinate and Juvenile blood." He smiled, a look that sent chills racing down Shadow's spine. "I would do so myself, but I'm not a blood expert. Anyways, keeping lists of Vampyric blood samples is Malak's job. I just check them for accuracy."  
Shadow inwardly shuddered at the thought of having to give another sample of blood to Malak. Sometimes, Shadow would wonder what the true reason was for Malak taking such an interesting position upon himself, for she knew he himself had chosen to take the position, not had it placed upon him. She knew Malak had an obsession towards feasting on blood. He was always looking for new blood to drink. It was quite the disturbing event to stand in Malak's presence when he was evaluating the taste of blood. He sounded much like a connoisseur, trying a new dish for the first time; suffice to say, the intricate way he evaluated the blood's flavor was disturbing for a creature that did not feed upon blood to listen to. It was even a trifle awkward in the eyes of some other Vampyres too. It was unnatural, even for Vampyric standards. Sometimes Shadow would wonder, when he took blood samples for listing—Vampyres were required to give up a little bit of blood, which would be documented by Malak as apparently some means of keeping track of the Vampyres and making certain they didn't betray the race or act wrongly, for all blood is very different—if he ever fed upon them. It wouldn't shock Shadow for Malak to do such a thing as he, of all creatures, seemed to be most interest in the flavours of blood. Was it too much to assume that he secretly tasted the blood of his own kind? Shadow had to remember that he was the fool who tried to feed on the blood of the afflicted, those brainless, zombie-like creatures aimlessly wandering the wastes of the town of Mort'ton. It didn't seem that outlandish that Malak may possibly feed on Vampyric blood. However, since the thought of Malak drinking her blood frightened her, she decided not to think about it any longer.  
First things were first, though, Shadow had to locate this Juvinate she was supposed to be meeting. She had never met Arik before and didn't want to make a bad impression. For even if the man was bound to serve her, she would rather he serve with pleasure, not by force. Thus, Shadow made haste to the feeding chamber, which had recently been relocated downstairs so the younger Vampyres wouldn't attempt to mingle with the higher ranked ones, mostly the nobles. She could hear her boots echoing off the stairs as she trotted cheerfully down.  
Upon arriving, Shadow was shocked to see the chamber was fairly empty. Usually there were quite a few Vampyres lurking down there, feeding upon the fresh blood which was commonly brought in for them. Today, however, only four Vampyres dared to lurk down in the chamber. Shadow thought for a moment that it may be because of her, that they knew she was going to be going down there and all decided to avoid it accordingly. However, Shadow began to realize how silly that sounded. She nearly laughed aloud at the thought of Vampyres suddenly avoiding her for little to no apparent reason. Vampyres of Castle Drakan were always touchy, she had noted this once before. It was very unlikely to be her presence in particular that was startling the Vampyres away, but... it seemed awkward, nonetheless. Shadow remembered the bizarre way they dodged her, avoiding her presence in the hallway. She couldn't help but remember that strange reaction and it made her strongly consider for a minute that it might be her startling them.  
Of the four Vampyres in the room, three of them were Juvinates and one was a Vyrewatch. The Vyrewatch was standing somewhat near the entrance, stalking close to a newly stocked barrel of B type blood. His eyes narrowed in on Shadow upon her entrance into the room, almost as if he were guarding the barrel of blood and wanted to make absolute certain she went nowhere near his precious blood. His eyes further narrowed upon her small figure in the doorway and he greedily lowered his head down to his glass, sipping the blood with an avaricious glint in his eye. Shadow had to admit to herself, he was a very uncomfortable Vampyre to be around and his very existence made her feel a little ill at ease, to say the least. There seemed to be lust in his eyes, an expression that was not something she liked to receive from a Vyrewatch of his size. As for the three Juvinates, they were crowded around an older barrel of AB+, chatting in silent, but cheerful tones amongst one another. They didn't appear to mind the hateful Vyrewatch hoarding his precious B type blood in the corner nor did they initially seem to notice Shadow was waiting behind them. They were attached to their blood, despite it's older age. Shadow could hear their idle conversation, but couldn't make any sense of what it was the three of them were rambling on about over there.  
Shadow had to wonder, which of those three were hers? Which of those three men would be working under her? On the right side of the group was a man of average height dressed in a long, navy blue shirt, which was thrown over his dark grey pants. The shirt had a tall spiked collar rising from it, which mostly covered his otherwise hairless head. He was wearing small, dull brown shoes. Some of the oldest Vampyres in the order dressed like this still, usually those which had been unable to rank up for a while, though not always. Whereas on the group's left side was the smallest of the group. His hair was short and red, red hair being something rare amongst Vampyres. He was dressed in an awkwardly bright white suit, something that would stick out a bit too boldly in a crowd. Shadow spotted a red bow tie clearly on him, which eerily matched with the burgundy shirt he was wearing under his suit. He was wearing thin silver colored gloves. It was shocking for Shadow to see he wasn't wearing any shoes. He stood awkwardly on the tips of his toes, seemingly completely comfortable with the fact that he wasn't wearing any shoes, which stood out from the group. In the middle of the three was the tallest man in the group. To her, he stood out the most. His clothing was much more flamboyant, yet elegant, then the others. He was dressed in a dull black outfit with a long thick red scarf bunched inside it, sort of like the one Lord Drakan had been wearing earlier. He was wearing pants of an awkwardly dark shade of red, which were pushed into his tall, black, heeled boots. His boots were held together by three straps rather then being zipped up or just slipped on. He wore a short, narrow purple cape. His hair was a soothing black and was combed back against his head. Shadow noticed that middle of the group had the symbol of the House of Drakan on his belt whereas the other two wore it strung around their necks as a necklace, instead. Shadow coughed subtly at the group, catching the attention of the man on the right.  
The man on the right turned back to his friends. Shadow just happened to notice the man on the left throw Shadow a quick glance before turning back to his other friends. The only one who took absolutely no notice of her was the man in the middle, who seemed a bit too enthralled in his drink. "Hey, Arik!" the man on the right called. This made it clear he wasn't the one. However, which one was then one, then? "Your Vyrewatch is here!"  
The short man couldn't help but glance curiously once more over his shoulder, seemingly a trifle on the timid side. "Hmm?" asked one, though Shadow was unable to tell which of the two spoke. The tallest man turned around, taking a glance towards the door. A spark of realization lit up in his otherwise emotionless eyes and Shadow soon realized he must have been the one that would work for her. "Ah, you're right. Hey, I'll see you guys later. I've got a job to do."  
The man on the right smiled at Arik, an understanding expression on his face. "No, it's alright. I understand completely." Arik's ears flicked twice as his friend held on to his shoulder, adding, "Far as I'm concerned, it's an honor to be bestowed the right to work under a Vyrewatch." With a grin, he also added, "And a Vyrelady, nonetheless."  
Arik glared at his friend, attempting, but failing, to hide the expression from Shadow. "Not in front of the lady." Arik hissed quietly, shaking his friend out hoping it would rattle some sense into his little skull. "You've got to show some respect to the higher ups. Go flirt with your shoe or something." Shadow could barely stifle a giggle at Arik's response to his friend's reaction towards her.  
"Oh, now that was harsh." his friend responded. However, the smile on the face of the smallest member of the trio showed that there was a mutual agreement that Arik's joke was humorous. "Oh but, go, go ahead. I'm sure you've got far more important things to do then stand here and insult my shoe."  
Without another word to his two odd friends, not that Arik was anywhere near normal himself, Arik turned away from his two companions, walking at a moderate, but acceptable speed towards Shadow. He stopped in front of her, delivering her a polite bow before she could so much as even catch a breath of air, not that she needed it. "Greetings my lady." Arik courteously greeted her as he completed his bow. "My name is Arik Weston; you may call me by whatever pleases you most. I am here to service you in whatever way I possibly can. I will be available for you at any hour of the day, so don't feel shy to call me whenever you need something. Whether it's of true importance or you simply can't be bothered, I will perform your task with honor. I can also travel with you through Morytania as a bodyguard, should you ever feel like you need one, or if you simply desire companionship. Remember my lady, I will fight to the death to protect you and will be proud to do so. Don't ever feel like a task is too difficult for me. I only wish to please you."  
To Shadow, that speak sounded extremely rehearsed. Whether or not it actually was remained to be known, but regardless, he spoke it well. He sounded so much more different now from the Arik she had just witnessed not a minute ago. Back those few moments ago, he seemed so carefree, so happy-go-lucky, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Now, he sounded serious, like that joy and happiness had been carelessly brushed aside and replaced with a powerful sense of duty. It was a trifle awkward, since she had seen Arik how he truly was, but she also had to remind herself how seriously the Vampyre Juvinates took their jobs, not too mention how fine of pieces Lord Drakan would shred them into if they failed to perform to satisfactory standards.  
"Thank you, Arik. I am sure you will perform quite finely." Shadow reassured him with a comforting smile. Most of the Vyrewatch didn't notice it, for it had been quite a while since they themselves had last been Juvinates, but Shadow knew from spending mass time near them that they were always worried about not performing to the adequate standards set by their masters. They were always petrified of being reported to Lord Drakan as failures and what would result from such a report. So Shadow knew how comforting such simple words could be to the Juvinates. Arik didn't verbally respond, but his miniscule smile said enough for Shadow to know she had down well in comforting him.  
Shadow quickly turned aside, rushing up the stairs at twice the speed at which she had proceeded down them. She wasn't bothered by Arik's friends, they seemed like fine young Vampyres, it was that Vyrewatch skulking near the door that was causing her paranoia. She felt as if the quicker she removed herself from that room, the better. Naturally, Arik followed at her heels, deciding to stay close by her side until she ordered otherwise. Shadow stopped for a fraction of a moment near the top of the stairs, barely leaving any room for Arik to squeeze through without bumping into her. She wouldn't have minded, but she knew for a fact Arik would've overreacted had he so much as nudged into her. She brushed her hair to the side slightly as she stopped, nearly knocking over that enormous, heavy weapon Lord Drakan had given her to drag around senselessly.  
It was then Shadow suddenly realized she had no reason to lug around such a pointlessly irksome objects, as she clearly didn't plan on using it. She turned to Arik, who was attempting to tighten his scarf as it had loosened a trifle upon his ascend up the stairs. To be technical, he was not watching Shadow, but the second so much as a huff of air was releases from her mouth, his head quickly turned to face Shadow, seeing if she needed anything. "Excuse me, Arik?" Shadow inquired, even though she knew she didn't need to ask. However, she didn't feel right straight up demanding something out of his, for she was too nice towards her kind to do that, so she remained gentle and soft spoken. "Could you possibly find somewhere to stash this where it won't be in my way, or taken by other Vampyres?" She held out the awkward weapon towards Arik as she spoke. "I find it a bit too large for my liking. I would much rather continue to use my spear, not that I don't like this thing." She eventually realized she was not speaking to Lord Drakan and thus didn't need to pretend she liked a weapon she didn't really take fancy in.  
Arik took the weapon off Shadow's hands before she even explained her reason for disliking it so. She could quite literally feel a whole weight being lifted off her fingertips as he accepted the strange weapon. He didn't appear at all shocked by the size or weight of it, possibly because this was not the first time he had carried one of these around for a Vyrewatch. Shadow could only assume this, however, for she was clearly not Arik nor had she ever been forced to perform any of the tasks he had probably performed many a thousand times in his life. "I shall find somewhere to place this weapon where it will not be of inconvenience." Arik kindly said to his master.  
"Oh, and Arik?" Shadow once more turned her attention to her Vampyre servant, who only seemed more then eager to service her in any way possible. She could see that eager look in his eyes; this job meant more to him then she could have ever imagined. "I will be traveling to Canifis to get my blood sample renewed with Malak. I do not require your presence on this journey, sadly. So I will be advising you to remain here at Castle Drakan with your friends until my return. Do enjoy yourself."  
"My lady, you need not advise." Arik kindly returned, making certain Shadow was aware that he was hers to boss around with wild abandon. He did care not whether Shadow wanted to boss him around or show kindness to him. He simply wanted her to be aware that she did not need to be overly polite towards him, that he would be fine with a more demanding tone of voice. However, Shadow refused to condone such actions towards one who looked up to her so eagerly. She saw the hateful way Vanstrom bossed other Vampyres around and refused to become anything like them. "I am at your service, as always. If you desire something of me, just tell me, do not advise me. Nonetheless, if that's how you feel, then I shall remain at the castle. I wish you a safe journey. Do return well. I will be waiting." Arik gazed at Shadow for a second or two further before finally wandering off, once he was certain there was nothing more she desired. Shadow still didn't care. Whatever he said, she would not boss him around as if he were worthless, because he was not.  
Shadow observed with an ever silent gaze as Arik made haste to perform the task he was given. For a moment, Shadow smiled, but quickly changed to a more nonchalant expression, not wanting to appear as if she enjoyed the work she made him do. Sure, she liked that she had someone to do the little annoying things for her, but as she had mentioned before, she was insistent on making a good impression on Arik and this was not done by ordering him around like a puppy at the annual dog show, grinning in amusement as her performed trick after petty trick. She wondered for a moment if it would have been a better idea to ask him to join her on her trip to Canifis, if it would've been a positive experience for him. Suddenly, she began to feel a trifle bad about such a hasty decision. Attempting to throw away such feelings from her mind, for she knew they would only serve to distract her further, she quickly proceeded to usher herself from the castle. She approached the door guards swiftly, figuring they would attempt to block her exit wanting to know why she was leaving, as the guards usually do. Suffice to say, it was quite a surprise to her when the guards rushed to push the doors open and quickly step aside so she could pass. Shadow thought that perhaps Lord Drakan had informed them of her leaving, for never before had she seen the guards act so innocent about a body passing through the doors of Castle Drakan. Far as she was concerned, Lord Drakan already informing the guards of her departure from the castle seemed to be the only rational explanation to why they opened the doors for her without even giving her a second glance. This was at least what she thought, for that was the only half rational explanation her simple thinking mind could come up with, but unbeknown to her, that was not at all the truth.  
Outside, hidden deep in the gloom and dusk of the looming Castle Drakan were three darkened silhouettes, blotted out from most peering eyes by the cascading darkness of the nearby terrain and scenery. Even Shadow failed to notice the three shapes as she hustled herself out the door, rushing down the streets with extreme haste. The three heads turned in perfect harmony to observe her as she promptly trudged past the malevolent group. It was a little eerie, suffice to say, and had Shadow seen such an occurrence, it probably would've offset her more then the Vyrewatch hoarding the barrel of blood within the bowels of the feeding room.  
The head of the group lowered his gaze by a little, remaining silent outwardly, but releasing with him an aura of impatience, one that repeatedly asked the same unforbearing inquiry. One of the people in the group spoke up, one of the figures standing behind the main person. "You see, my Lord Vanstrom?" the guard rhetorically inquired, Vanstrom glancing up ever so slightly as he spoke. "The guards have given Shadow absolutely no trouble with leaving, as I told them that you had given her immediate departure from the castle. The plan is going exactly as you detailed it. There should be no major delays for us" Though this was true, the guard knew it was a rather stretched truth.  
However, you could never hide even the slightest detail from Vanstrom. If you hide the slightest secret or told the slightest lie to Vanstrom, his mind would detect it almost instantly. His ears would flick a single time, then once more and just that would show, he knew, he knew you were lying. The guard spotted the initial ear flick, but failed to take notice of the second one. He was quickly informed of what he failed to notice, though, when Vanstrom spoke a bit more prominently and demanded, "That is not the entire story. What went wrong?"  
Vanstrom's guard inwardly flinched, snarling in irritation to himself. He was secretly hoping that Vanstrom would not ask too many questions, for he truly hated explaining inconveniences to a savage and ill-tempered man such as Vanstrom. "Nothing can be hidden from you, can it, my lord?" Vanstrom did not acknowledge this question. The guard, feeling a little anxious that Vanstrom didn't respond to his simple, innocent humor, gulped slightly, making sure Vanstrom took absolutely no notice of this reaction, for he would yell at the poor guard for being weak if he did. "Well, you see, Shadow is traveling to Canifis to renew her blood sample with Malak. She's decided not to take her servant, which will make the troublesome delay a little less... troublesome. However, we'll have to wait until after she renews the blood sample, for initiating the plan earlier would only run the risk of it being noticed, as Shadow was already entirely aware that she had to arrive for the event."  
Vanstrom pursed his lips slightly, attempting to decide whether or not this was a huge ordeal and withal, what he should do to his guard—even though this was clearly not his fault—to punish him for such an event. To the luck of the guard, however, Vanstrom decided this was no major difficulty and thus not worthy distressing over. "That's quite fine." Vanstrom finally answered, to the alleviation of his guard. "That shouldn't change too much. We'll simply await her return to Darkmeyer and act thereupon. Come men, let's be on our way." The two guards said nothing—though one of the guards never much of anything anyways—as they trailed their master.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Onward to Disappointment ****  
****The journey to Canifis**

Far as she was concerned, Shadow was never going to get a hold of this flying thing. She leaped proudly into the sky, planning to leap straight over the side of the walls of Darkmeyer and suffice to say, it did not work as she planned. When she took to the skies, she found it difficult to balance herself in the sky. She could feel her body nervously shaking from side to side, unable to balance out with the large wings lurking behind her. She was risen high above the wall, the result of flapping her wings a trifle too furiously. This startled her and she suddenly ceased flapping her wings altogether. That, clearly, didn't end very well. She soon found herself cascading swiftly towards the ground below.

**Bam!**

She ended up crash landing on the top of a dusty old coffin, which immediately expressed it's hatred for being landed upon by choking up Shadow with thick clouds of dust. It was a good thing oxygen was not something Shadow required, for there currently wasn't very much of that stuff around no thanks to the thick, hideous cloud of dust.  
There were several coffins in the depths of the graveyard, and nearly all of them were either empty or filled with the ancient bones of a long since dead monster, something that, even by Morytanian standards, was most definitely dead. There was one coffin, one lone coffin, which housed a very ancient and very crabby creature inside of it. The coffin had not been opened for quite a while and that event dates back to the dinner, which was not something Shadow likes to remind herself of more then once a day.  
Shadow howled suddenly in fear as the coffin rattled wildly, the thing inside battling to throw the lid off even past her weight. She scrambled ungracefully to her feet, attempting to flee before the lid could be thrown off. Unfortunately for her, skittering to her feet probably only made things worse for her. For, as she removed some of her direct weight from the coffin's lid, the creature inside found the lid increasingly lighter, and with a forceful jolt the lid came flying off, sending poor little Shadow flying away with it. She landed with a thud on the ground below, her stomach smashing into the dirt below. She didn't have more then a second or two to react to the initial shooting nor the landing, for the coffin lid soon came down to greet her, landing with a smash on her back. The lid was crafted of ancient solid stone and thus did not feel to comforting as it smashed against Shadow's back. Shadow flinched, biting back a screech as a bone in her back cracked, nearly snapping apart like a mere minded twig. "You idiot!" Shadow hissed darkly, losing all innocence she previously had. "Get this heavy hunk of stone off me before I use it as a weapon towards you."  
The creature that threw off the lid seemed a trifle indifferent towards Shadow's idle threat and the dazed look in his eyes told that he was barely awake enough to differentiate the difference between a threat, a compliment, or a completely out of the ordinary statement entirely. The creature was an awkward sickly pale color, a shade that was strange even for a Vampyre. The creature had a snout, alongside a strangely pointed nose, but the snout was definitely not like that of what Ranis had in full Vampyric form. It was a little thinner and sharper, not so flat. It had sharp ears that ended abruptly on the creature's awkwardly shaped head. When the creature flicked it's ears, it looked like a curious little imp. The creature's whole face in a general degree was imp-like, save for the fact that it's mouth adorned a long row of razor sharp teeth, which soon bore into a devilish grin for little reason. The creature blinked it's sickly yellow eyes a couple times—these eyes were of such a bizarre color that even the Vampyres who saw it shied away from it for it's strange colored eyes—which seemed devoid of all sanity. As it blinked, it jolted itself awake. Only once it was aware of it's surroundings did it take notice to Shadow, of whom it had rudely crushed under the coffin's lid.  
This creature, as surprising as it sounded, was actually a member of Lord Drakan's royal family. He was once a feral Vampyre, but eventually regained his senses and attempted to assist in Lord Drakan's rule. Though it definitely took a while to convince anyone he had abandoned his feral habits, he was eventually able to regain his rightful place in the family. He was given a small, lifeless graveyard just off the side of Darkmeyer. There seemed to be nothing of importance there, and that was pretty much true, but it allowed to creature to spend most of it's days resting away peacefully within the dark reaches of one of the empty coffins, only awakening every once in a rare while to partake in royal events, then go back to a gentle sleep. The creature never fully recovered from his feral nature, the physical attributes of a very long life in feral hostility still clear. He didn't mind, though. This intricate creature was known as Dessous.  
Dessous knelt over by just the slightest, his long, curled, yellowed fingernails barely touching the ground below. His head shifted to the side, his ears twitching curiously as he observed the squirming figure under the lid. Over the years, Dessous' vision had worsened and he began to find it difficult to differentiate various people and objects by looking at them. Sometimes they looked blurred, sometimes the colors were wrong, a flurry of shades on the spectrum merging together into one hideous puddle. There were even times that his vision failed him to such a major degree that he couldn't even classify what he was looking at, going as far as to dub a werewolf a tree or another coffin lying about a ghost. Suffice to say, vision wasn't his best quality. Dessous often observed the world around him with his pointed ears and twitchy nose, which was fine with him anyways.  
His strange shaped head quickly darted to the opposite side, his pale, yellow eyes attempting to identify the life-form in front of him before he observed with his other senses. Dessous could certainly see someone in front of him, but he couldn't identify who by watching her. His vision was warped today, everything surrounding him twisted and bending and merging awkwardly with the rest of his surroundings. His head swiftly jerked back, confusion seeping over him at the scene in front of him. It didn't take long for poor old Dessous to realize his vision just wasn't improving in the slightest and that he would be forced to sense who this was by other means. The point of his nose rose into the sky as he sniffed the air around him. One hand left the ground, bent at the wrist, whereas the other was still just barely touching the dirt below. A powerful, almost spicy scent filled his nose. For a moment, he was badly startled by the powerful scent of spice, but the scent grew dimmer and soon he found his eyelids drooping, demanding to be closed. His lips met, curling up in a small smile, now enjoying the scent that was rapidly filling his nostrils. He recognized the interesting scent of spice, a scent which started strong to whisk your attention, then faded slightly to keep your focus. It was Shadow!  
Upon catching this scent, Dessous realized he had crushed Shadow under his coffin lid. Both of his hands met immediately with the ground, the entire palm of his hand pushed into the dirt rather then just the tips of his fingers. "Oh my dear Shadow." Dessous said, finally speaking with his serpent-like tongue. "I am quite sssssorry for trapping you under the lid. I couldn't sssssee who it wasssss. Thessssse poor old eyesssss aren't what they usssssed to be."  
"Just get this thing off me!" Shadow argued to the old, malformed Vampyre, continuing to struggle under the weight of the lid. "It's crushing my poor wing!" Though Dessous couldn't see that it was crushing her wings—or her having wings in general—due to his poor eyesight, Shadow could certainly feel it. Though her right wing was fine, her left wing had been crushed by the weight of the coffin's lid, she unable to get it off without assistance.  
Dessous had just been about to grip the coffin's lid when Shadow admitted to having wings. Upon hearing such, Dessous loosened his grip on the lid, his head perking upwards upon hearing such interesting news. "You have wingsssss now?" Dessous inquired with deep interest. "Oh congratulationsssss my dear!" Dessous nearly purred in happiness upon congratulating her. "You have finally reached the Vyrewatch ssssstage. How long hasssss it been?"  
Shadow spat slightly, as if signaling Dessous to hold back the idle conversation for a moment. She strained, attempting to push the lid off herself as if it were some sarcastic form of informing Dessous that he was failing to help. Either Dessous quickly got the hint or just decided he were going to help, because he retained his grip on the lid of the coffin and with a loud grunt, heaved the coffin lid off Shadow and her wing, freeing her from it's crushing weight. Shadow rose uncertainly to her feet, shaking out her wings as if they were infected, running her fingers slowly against their leathery surface. "It's about time." Shadow snarled slightly, abandoning her friendly thanks for a strict tone, a tone that was supposed to be used to drill it into Dessous' rotting heart that he was supposed to please her. "Since you seem like you must know, it's only been a couple of weeks. In fact, I was just on my way to renew my blood sample with Malak." She smiled sheepishly a trifle embarrassed about what she was about to admit to. "I don't exactly know how to fly yet... So that's why I crash landed on your lid. That was my bad."  
However, Dessous didn't appear to mind. Moreover, he actually purred joyfully and responded, "Oh that'sssss quite alright, Shadow. I don't expect you to fly like a professsssssssssional on your firssssst try. That would be almossssst unnatural." He rose to his feet, now standing like a qualified Vyrewatch instead of skulking eerily around as if he were some sort of feral, hunch-backed monster, silently stalking his prey. "Be well, darling."  
Though Dessous' farewell meant very little to her, Shadow decided to acknowledge it politely nonetheless. Dessous had never done anything particularly horrible to her, though he hadn't really done anything explicitly nice either, and she had absolutely no reason to be cruel towards him. "Well I thank you, Dessous." Shadow finally answered in the friendliest tone she could forge.  
Shadow observed for a minute or two as Dessous returned back to his crypt. He drug the lid back towards it's home coffin with outstanding strength. He hardly strained, despite the heaviness of the lid. The whole idea of the lid being heavy was so that most people couldn't lift it an interrupt him while he slept. Nonetheless, Shadow found it quite outstanding how simple it was for him to bring it back over, propping it on the top of the coffin with a single huff. He scrambled noisily back inside, squeezing through the gap he left himself between the coffin and the lid to return back inside. Dessous fought to pull the lid completely back over his head, blocking out any light that may have dared to rush in from Morytania to disrupt his dormancy. How he completely closed it, Shadow couldn't figure out, but, he had done it. Shadow was going to inch forward and offer her assistance, but it appeared he didn't actually need it. It was amazing how quickly Dessous was able to regain comfort and fall back into a deep slumber, hoping to remain undisturbed.  
Once that awkward fiasco was completed, Shadow was on her way, delving deeper into the murk and gloom of the Mort Myre Swamp. The swamp held an absolutely rancid smell, long, powerful whiffs of death and decay. The ooze of the marsh held a distinct stink, a deadly scent which rushed into your nostrils in a thick and disgusting fog and locks itself inside, making certain that harsh smell was trapped inside forever. If you weren't smelling the death of the marsh, then you were probably smelling her rotting food, which eventually became a part of the oozing depths of the swamp. Rotting food was trashed all over the reaches of the swamp, playing as an appalling meal for the local Blamish Snails, creepy black snails with dull colored, spiked shells. These creepy critters usually liked to stalk within the thick reeds, where the average person is unable to fit through. Sometimes, though, the snails can be found lurking in the actual swamp water, waiting for an unsuspecting person to tromp on them so they can retaliate with extreme hostility. As long as the various breeds of Blamish Snails were left alone, they will not bother visitors to their swamp, for they realize the thick reaches of their cold, wet home are too unforgiving to be permanently bothered by any visitors. They are completely fine with blissfully skulking about, nibbling innocent upon the tall, leafy plants that awkwardly grew out of the surrounding wetlands. Shadow knew that the parts of the marsh filled with thick pools of water were the only known place to house Snails. Leeches sometimes lurked in the water, though their larger, dangerous off-breeds only skulked in the Haunted Woods, trailing past the dead trees. Feral Vampyres were a rare sight in the swampy area of Mort Myre as well, for these creatures preferred lurking in the Haunted Woods, leaping from branch to branch of long since dead trees, observing the unaware ground below. However, to say they never visited the nearby Mort Myre swamp would be vastly incorrect.  
Shadow's nose wrinkled up as a fragrance of pure death wafted in, pushing out whatever scent she had previously been sniffing. She coughed roughly, disliking this horrible aroma. She knew exactly what it was she had caught scent of and this was not a knew thing to her. Her eyes darted across the swampy lands around her, attempting to locate the beast that excreted this rancid scent. Finally, she caught sight of it. A ghostly creature, floating nonchalantly in the sky, observing her with malicious glowing eyes. It's head looked like that of a skull, a skull with morbid iridescent green eyes. It was clothed in a wispy cloak, which seemed to release an awkward yellow-green glow from somewhere inside. On places where the cloak didn't cover the floating, ghostly creature, she could see the thing's bones, awkwardly shimmery. It's hair was long, faded, and also appeared untamed, looking as if it were only still attached to the creature's glistening skull by an unknown magical force. It held up it's hands hopefully, two of them with sharp bony claws. Hopelessness could be sensed inwardly in this being, despite the malevolent way it glared upon Shadow. This creature was called a Ghast and it was one of the most well known residents of Mort Myre swamp. Mort Myre Swamp was well known for it's ancient curse, which caused people to slowly fall apart with hunger. The longer they went without food in Mort Myre, the more a person could literally feel themselves dying. Their skin paled, their faces drooped and their hair began to awkwardly fall out in thick clumps. If the person didn't eat soon, their souls faded, merging with the swamp forever. Ghasts would hopelessly float around, waiting for a traveler to pass so they could get some food, unaware they no longer need it. However, the ancient magic of a Ghast caused all food they touched to rot instantly, which only saddened the creatures. They sometimes went as far as to leech the life force straight from a person. Shadow felt bad for the Ghasts, as they only desired food, but could never truly get it. She often described them as misguided ghosts.  
Ghasts never attacked Vampyres, for they could not sense a heartbeat in a Vampyre. Initially, Vampyres confused Ghasts, and when they first laid eyes on one another the Ghasts stared awkwardly, unsure what to make of their undead companions. They looked human, yet their was no life in a Vampyric body. This eventually led Ghasts to decide Vampyres were not worth attacking, unless they carried food, and since Vampyres never ate human food, they never did. However, this never stopped Vampyres from confusing Ghasts, for the Ghast's eyes and the Ghast's nose would sense two different things, and they would stare awkwardly, attempting to figure out what was up with these fanged creatures.  
This particular Ghast found itself mystified by Shadow, unsure what to think of the creature that stood in front of it. The creature could smell it, despite only having a hole in his skull for a nose, no nostril hair nor a proper working brain to process smell, she didn't have any food. This saddened the Ghast, for he wished to feed. He wanted to feed from her life force, but he could sense none. She looked human to him... human enough... so why was she not emanating a life force? The Ghast could not think properly and thus resorted to an unwieldy stare.  
This creature left Shadow feeling a little unnerved, for the mix of emotions permanently etched into it's face and mind were so painstakingly obvious, swirling around it almost as if hunger and sadness were manifested into a physical form in the shape of the swamp gas. As the brazen green fog swirled around her innocently, she swore she could smell an aroma of those emotions. She thought, emotions don't have a scent, but sometimes, it truly felt like they did. Dismayed by the ghostly being watching her so eerily, Shadow quickly hustled out of its sight, leaving it by itself so it would cease staring and go about its own activities, whatever those were. That made Shadow think for a second as she fled from the Ghast; what did Ghasts do when there was nobody to follow?  
Shadow continued to hurriedly trek through the thick, swampy reached of Mort Myre. She tried to keep her eyes focused ahead, not glancing off to the side in any fashion. There were so many intricate things pushed away in the deepest corners of Mort Myre, so many interesting creatures... Shadow didn't want to end up enthralled by something bizarre and be late. She didn't wish to stray her train of thought by even the slightest. So, she made haste. She ignored the large numbers of Ghasts, all staring at her with deep interest. She ignored the angry hisses of the tiny leeches as she trod across them, their friends attempting to retaliate for the misdemeanor committed against their squirmy little allies. She ignored the Blamish Snails, lifting her feet to make certain she stepped over them, leaving them to wander the swamp in peace and harmony. She forced reeds aside, she trudged through thick wetlands, she rushed through the haze and fog of the swamp. Shadow wove through the supernatural land of Mort Myre with amazing speed and dexterity.  
However, Shadow found herself screeching to a stop as something moved ahead, something unlike a Ghast or Blamish Snail. This something was pale and humanoid and for a minute, she mistook it for one of the Ghouls that wandered near Canifis. It soon occurred to Shadow that this creature was no Ghoul. A gargoyle-looking creature was not far ahead. Its back was badly hunched, making it difficult for Shadow to see its head, as it was not looking Shadow's direction. She could see it's tall, pointed ears, though, which stuck out above it's hunched back. The creature's toes were bent awkwardly, it's long toes wrapped around the branch of the dead tree it was perched on. Its arms bent awkwardly, gripping onto the tree. She could see a very small filmy bit under its arms, like that of a Vyrewatch's wings. It was difficult to understand what it was wearing, for its red and black outfit had ripped as the creature had strangely mutated. It clothes were ripped by the shoulders, ripped near the top of the leg, barely covering any of its leg, then a little clothing near the bottom of the leg, which had separated from the rest of the outfit and remained held on by some unknown force. Initially, the creature took no notice of Shadow watching it. It only stood hunched over on it's perch, which was an old tree with rotting branches and no leaves. Shadow observed that it was quietly surveying the nearby city of Canifis, which was located just a couple of short patches of swamp water away. Once she was able to watch the motionless creature for a while, observe it's anatomy and clothing, she realized it was no Ghoul. It was a feral Vampyre!  
Shadow was definitely not scared of the feral Vampyre, but more so confused by it. Feral Vampyres were common inhabitants of the Haunted Woods, and on the off times they did wander into the Mort Myre swamp, it was usually very close to the Haunted Woods themselves. Well, Shadow knew for a fact she was nowhere near the Haunted Woods, so this began to strike her as very confusing. Why was this monstrous creature all the way out here?  
She took a step forward towards it, hoping to observe it closer. Unfortunately, her observation would be short lived, for when she stepped forward, the creature's ears flicked swiftly and it instantaneously glanced over its shoulder, glaring upon Shadow. At first, the Vampyre did not notice—either that or didn't care about—the difference between Shadow and a human. It released a vile sounding hiss, usually used to scare their prey into submission so the following attack was more likely to succeed. Upon hissing, it leaped valiantly off it's tree branch, a grand leap which cleared more space then Shadow was expecting. The creature landed on all fours and wasted no time in dashing towards Shadow, running with it's hands pushing against the ground. The hunch-backed creature stopped dead in front of Shadow, only mere inches from her. She could feel it's breath on her leg; she looked down upon the creature, who's hunched back and crouching position made it appear much smaller then her. Once it took a moment to observe, it realized Shadow, too, was a Vampyre, even if she wasn't feral as he was. Noticing this, it stopped attacking, though it observed her with a frightening hunger in its eyes, as if it were attempting to think up a way it could feed on her anyways. The creature must not have been able to think of one, though, for it eventually lost interest and skulked away, wandering like an animal back into the marsh.  
Though this failed to answer Shadow's question about why a Feral Vampyre was so far into the swampy wastelands of Mort Myre, it did get rid of the creature, and nothing bad had come out of it's fake out. She had to wonder, were other feral Vampyres coming this far out of Haunted Woods? If so, would that be a problem, something she should report to the other Vampyres? It was very unlikely, so Shadow decided to just ignore this occurrence as if it had never happened. She had far more important tasks to deal with anyways; no time to worry about the increasingly inconsistent actions of the local feral Vampyres. She curiously glanced behind her to see if the feral Vampyre was still nearby, but it had left at an outstanding pace, no longer interested in what was around these parts.  
Rumors sometimes spread that the feral Vampyres were afraid of their non-feral cousins. This rumor started in an unknown location, but was said to be started under the explanation that non-feral Vampyres were originally, and still are, the ones who kicked their feral cousins from their city walls, dumping them in the lifeless wastes of the Haunted Woods where they were free to prance about and chew on whatever they desired. As feral Vampyres have lost the ability to communicate in the common tongue, instead sending messages to one another through a vast system of screeches and howls, no one was able to ask them if this were true. It was evident enough, though, that there was definitely bad blood between the feral and non-feral Vampyres, most likely because the non-feral Vampyres believe themselves to be better and dump the feral Vampyres in a wasteland to fend for themselves, them living in a life of despair while their intelligent cousins enjoy their lives of far greater luxury then a forest of dead trees and leeches behind tall city walls.  
Shadow nonchalantly leaped over the first deep swamp, finding no appeal in trudging through the murky swamps. She bound with great grace, flipped once in air, then made a perfect landing below, a single hand on the ground, the other ever so slightly in the air. Shadow had made more jumps then she could count over all sorts of interesting objects. Completing large jumps was nothing new to her. She had done it so many times, in fact, that she was able to leap with style and pretty much never mess up. Leaping over obstacles was not a problem to her and it never would be; keeping a balanced flight pattern where she didn't wreck due to losing altitude... now that was the problem. Every time she took to the sky she just couldn't control her wings. How did she go up? How did she fly down? How was she supposed to turn left and right? She didn't even know how to control her speed! For now, she was simply going to leap every barrier in her way. She would ask someone else about how to fly—maybe Vykio—when she had the time. Shadow bent over once more, preparing herself for the second grand leap that followed. Shadow performed a twirling motion in air, surprised by how much higher and further she could jump now then she could before. It never occurred to her how greatly her Vampyric strength had increased since becoming a Vyrewatch. She cascaded into the sky, shocking herself by landing a little less gracefully then before on the roof of the Hair of the Dog Tavern in Canifis, a moderate distance and height from the point at which she had launched herself from. She gazed back with a deep interest flickering in her blood red eyes, astonished by the distance she had covered in a single leap.  
Shadow bound from the roof of the Hair of the Dog Tavern suddenly, leaping right as one of the people inside had come wandering outside, glancing up into the sky and observing the roof to find what had caused the loud bang he had clearly heard. He lowered the glass he was holding, confusion washing over him as he attempted to locate the cause of the sound. When he still couldn't find anyone or anything, he eventually shrugged hopelessly and turned his attention back to the glass he was shining, skulking back into the tavern with a grumble.  
With another loud bang, Shadow landed on the roof of the bank, which was a reasonable distance away from the Hair of the Dog Tavern. Shadow couldn't help but laugh with glee, for she really could jump quite a far ways with minimum effort. She was, suffice to say, quite ecstatic about this gain. Her excitement washed over her, rushing down her spinal cord with a spiraling intensity. She was so overjoyed, in fact, that she leaped gleefully from the roof of the bank, landing with a boom in the middle of the city, stirring up thick clouds of dirt, which hastened to settle back into place after the disturbance calmed down once more. After causing a tornado of dirt, Shadow rose to her feet, gazing around thoughtfully.  
Her red eyes focused on the tavern once more, narrowing in on the aged, but sizable building. A rather old sign hung from the roof panels, which hung over the petite deck and brief staircase, creaking as they attempted to hold in place. The sign swung back and forth ever so slightly, like a never-ending pendulum, a gentle squeak echoing out at perfect intervals. The sign announced the name of the building and thus said, "Hair of the Dog Tavern" in unique, old letters, which were slowly fading off the sign over the years. She knew this was her destination.  
Not too far away stood a red-skinned man. He had thick, black cloven hooves, spiraling horns, and a long and curly pointed tail. Though he looked like some sort of Demon straight from hell—though it wouldn't be wrong to label him a Demon—he was really not much of the sort. Mazchna, as he was known to be called, was a generally passive personality. He was powerful, cruel in battle, and completely capable of defending himself, but he usually only struck unless badly provoked, or if the Mahjarret were involved. He absolutely loathed those men and women, Lucien especially. This was not about his past, though. This was about him in general. He liked to lurk on the outskirts of Canifis, straying away from the local Werewolves, but eagerly awaiting anyone who would seek out his slayer tasks. He assigned some interesting monsters at times and that often attracted eager slayers who preferred slayer creatures that generally deserved to be killed. For the most part, no one bothered Mazchna, and he would not speak to anyone unless they addressed him first. He was watching Shadow closely, recognizing her as someone who used to be one of his disciples. She had swapped masters to Chaeldar and it was painstakingly obvious to him why. He was completely aware of her being a Vampyre. He quickly realized this by her physical appearance, not to mention the number of spears she aimlessly snapped like twigs whenever she disliked his assignments. Regardless, he knew she changed because most of his tasks involved slaying creatures in Morytania, something Shadow, as a resident of the ancient land, couldn't bring herself to do. He understood completely. Slayer masters always respected their disciples choices to change masters, regardless of the exact reason. Nonetheless, he always found her interesting, and would watch her whenever she passed by. They rarely spoke anymore. He would just observe her, and sometimes, he would see her watching back.  
This was just another time of nonchalant passing by. Shadow wasn't even anywhere near him, passing directly through the middle of the Werewolf infested pit rather then through the outskirts where he was wandering. This time, she was completely unaware of him observing, too intent on whatever she had come here to do. However, Mazchna hadn't noticed just how little he had been paying attention. He gasped abruptly as something pushed past him, shoving him aside with great intensity.  
Mazchna was insulted almost on spot. This wasn't an accident, someone who had just elbowed another by complete mistake when passing by. This was done entirely on purpose. Someone who thought Mazchna was below him and decided to immaturely exhibit this by shoving him aside. Mazchna snarled deeply as a cloaked man and his two bodyguards pushed by; he could tell the cloaked man was probably the one who pushed him, for he headed the group. Feeling immensely disrespected, Mazchna demanded with a deep snarl, "Hey, you there! Watch where you're going! Don't pretend like you aren't aware of what you did!"  
The figure stopped, his bodyguards freezing at the exact same moment the head of the group had. Mazchna's teeth were bared evidently, as he eagerly awaited to see the face of whoever dared to charge into him purposely. However, Mazchna quickly found himself losing his bravado at the sight of his striker. The man had malevolent red eyes, not the sort of red you just get from being the wrong species, but a red that portrayed a sense of pure evil. His eyes were slightly shadowed in his cloak, but the rest of his face wasn't. Mazchna felt his heart skip a beat as the figure smirked slightly, revealing long pointed teeth. The man's guards had the same general hateful look in their eyes as their leader did, but nowhere near the same evil glint in their eye as his. He noticed the interesting weapons the guards were carrying, immensely humongous axe weapons they were wielding, weapons that were easily larger then they were.  
"Silence yourself, insolent little demon." the man, who was actually Vanstrom, hissed darkly, rising his head up ever so slightly. "I would keep to yourself if I were you, for I could tear your throat out without a second thought."  
For a moment, Mazchna was literally horrified of Vanstrom, for he had never seen such a great evil embedded in the eyes of one man. Not even the evil of Lucien had such a viscous glint to his eyes, nowhere near it. I am a Demon, though, realized Mazchna inwardly. He should not be afraid of the supernatural, for he too was one of them. "I wouldn't have spoken to you if you hadn't charged into me." Mazchna snarled, trying to make it appear as if he were not afraid of Vanstrom, hoping he may back down if he realized someone actually didn't fear him. "Surely you and your fanged friends can observe where you are going and avoid running into people. If you could simply apologize for your idiocy, we can move on with our lives and never have to deal with one another ever again."  
Unfortunately for Mazchna, not only did Vanstrom not back down, but standing up to him actually seemed to make him appear even more hostile towards the quiet slayer master. "If I would... What? What!? If I would... How dare you!?" Vanstrom howled spitefully, pure hate glistening in his evil eyes. "If anyone should be apologizing around here it should be you, you insolent little twit! How dare you suggest I, Vanstrom Klause, to apologize!? The only thing I should apologize for is not hitting you harder when I passed by." He drew back a single, clawed hand, prepared to strike Mazchna is he absolutely must. However, he must have decided against it, for he lowered his hand slightly. Mazchna was about to breathe a sigh of relief, but felt comfort too soon. Mazchna gasped clamorously as Vanstrom suddenly pushed Mazchna, forcing him into the side of a building. He held his clawed hand against the slayer master's throat, holding him against the wall. "Learn your place, you hideous excuse for a creature. To think that Zamorak created both of us, Demons and Vampyres, that is to say, is absolutely pathetic!"  
Mazchna fought for air as Vanstrom released his grip, throwing him to the ground as if he were nothing more then garbage now. As much as Mazchna wished to retort, he couldn't think of what to say. Even the powerful Demon warrior was horrified of Vanstrom, unsure of how to continue a battle with such a monster. Unable to think about what to say, barely even able to think as he was collecting oxygen, he kept to himself, writhing on the dirt below, feeling more and more at ease as he was able to breathe.  
"Never confront me again, or I will tear your arms off and push them down your throat." Vanstrom said in a deep snarl, glaring upon Mazchna's hideous twisting figure on the ground below, a proud smirk reflected on his face as he threatened the powerful Demon into submission. "Men! We go now!" He pulled his hood back over his eyes, hiding the evil glowing red beneath it.  
The first guard straightened his axe, pushing his focus only on Vanstrom and caring not about Mazchna. "Yes, Lord Vanstrom." He obediently responded, keeping that emotionless tone the guard always spoke with. The other guard also straightened his weapon, but did not verbally answer, only nodding to his master, which seemed to be acceptable enough for Vanstrom, for he did not argue with his guard.  
Mazchna glared upon Vanstrom's retreating figure from his position on the ground, now recovered from the shock of being suffocated by that Vampyric maniac. Mazchna was minutes from muttering 'psychopath' under his breath, but decided against it for he realized Vanstrom and his guards were probably more then capable of hearing him, being Vampyres and whatnot. So instead, Mazchna simply observed, a hateful glint in his eye, wondering what that man's problem was. Why was he in Canifis anyways? What was he doing to do, host a strangling contest? Suddenly, Mazchna didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to imagine what poor saps would have to endure and have already endured the full wrath of a psychopathic maniac like Vanstrom. Mazchna backed away, hoping to remove himself from that maniac's line of sight. He had to wonder, what was he doing, wandering through Canifis. He was even keeping to the shadows, as if he didn't wish to be spotted. Mazchna didn't care any longer, though. All he cared about was his line of work and thus he skulked quietly back further into the outskirts of Canifis, avoiding future contact with Vanstrom.  
At the same time, just outside of the Hair of the Dog Tavern, Shadow bound up the stairs, ready to confront Malak for the blood sample, despite the fact that she wasn't excited about having to give up blood to someone who was so openly obsessed with the tastes of blood that he actually described them in explicit detail while drinking them. Shadow stopped at the top of the stairs, shuddering slightly at such a thought. It returned her mind to the though of Malak drinking Vampyric blood. What if Malak had already fed on her blood when she was only a Juvenile, or maybe he drank her blood as a Juvinate...? What if he was just eagerly awaiting her to return for another blood sample, so he could taste her blood as a Vyrewatch and complete the spectrum. She could imagine Malak skulking in a dark corner of the tavern, basking on his blackened through of shadows, drinking her blood conservatively, with a gentle smile on his face. She pictured him taking a single sip, leaning back, and muttering comparisons to himself. How would he think her blood now compared to her blood before, assuming he had already tasted that? She shuddered once more, startling herself by imaging such gruesomely disturbing thoughts in her mind. Vampyres tend to remember things very well, in grave detail and a long time into the future. Needless to say, she would probably never get that image out of her mind, now that she jammed it in there. A part of her wanted to turn around, to say she got lost or Malak wasn't home, but she knew that would be a horrible lie, and that Lord Drakan was likely to call her out if she did such a thing. Needless to say, she decided against it.  
Gently Shadow pushed her hand against the side of the door into the tavern. Even outside of the tavern she could hear the ruckus inside, the excited screams and the rambunctious howls. She had to wonder what kind of chaos was exactly going on in that place, why there was so much forsaken noise and utter chaos erupting from that place. In one sense, it brought Shadow joy, to think something worthwhile may actually be going on inside that place. In another word, it brought much worry to Shadow, for at many times excess noise meant a fight, and those wolves knew exactly how to yank people into fights they wanted little to nothing to do with. Whatever the case, Shadow knew she still had to enter the tavern; she knew she would have to wander inside whether there was a fight or a party or absolutely nothing at all. Could that be possible? Was there a chance that she was imagining everything, that she could walk inside and it would be completely and utterly silent? Shadow had to wonder...  
Shaking such ludicrous thoughts out of her mind, Shadow abruptly forced the large, creaky door into the tavern wide open, slamming it against the wall as she forced it a bit to much. The loud slam caught the attention of everything alive in the room, the noise stopping almost instantaneously as everyone gazed up to see who was so hostile as to slam a door in such a violent manner. Shadow tilted her head ever so slightly, for there was a group of people surrounding two Werewolves, who were both in wolf form. Werewolves in wolf form looked a little like wolves with human anatomy, creatures that stood valiantly on two feet instead of four, able to move their limbs like a man would. Their bodies were brown and furry, both of them. The two had rows of sharp teeth running down their jawlines, eyes filled with spite, and long claws on the tips of their paws. A larger one hovered over a smaller on, his claws placed perfectly on the smaller one's chest. The smaller one had the left wrist of his enemy in his mouth, blood as black as night trickling out between his teeth. The fight had stopped almost instantly, the two combatants and the audience staring quietly at Shadow.  
Shadow tilted her head to the side, unsure why a fight was going on and no one had stopped it. She knew the other Werewolves wouldn't even try, they actually encouraged it. Usually Malak wandered the premises, though, and she wondered why him and his specific rules hadn't broken up the fight. "What is going on here?" Shadow asked, trying to sound forceful so the Werewolves would listen to her. "How can you fight like a bunch of wild animals? Why hasn't anyone broken this up, yet?"  
The crowd had fallen into a very unusual state of silence, a quiet which seemed to hover across the room, rushing past her legs and wiggling through the cracks in the wall, attempting to escape. No one in the crowd would answer, for they themselves seemed to be devoid of a valid response, and thus stared with ever silent eyes. "Master Malak isn't in at the time." a voice rose into the crowd, bashing down the silence like a wild animal whacking down a little baby rabbit. Shadow glanced over to see who had spoken to her. There stood a jovial man in a mostly black outfit, though there was a little red on it too. He had luscious brown hair that was quite short and a fanciful mustache. Shadow knew this man to be named Roavar and that he owned this very tavern. He was carelessly wiping the inside of a beer glass with a small rag, barely appearing to even notice that he was performing such a task, for he had done so many times. "I don't mind much about fights." Roavar continued, glancing down for a moment. "So, I wont try to stop them."  
Though Shadow badly wished to simply leave, since Malak wasn't here. However, she was still intelligent enough to realize how that would badly displease Lord Drakan, for he would have told her to simply stay at the tavern. "Well, when..." Shadow began, realizing that upsetting Lord Drakan would be a very poor idea. She felt a true feeling of nervousness quell up in her throat, gagging her and restricting her from completing her train of thought. For whenever she began to think, she glanced warily back over at the crowd of Werewolves, who were still watching with extreme intensity, probably wondering quietly to themselves if and when Shadow would vanish away on a puff of smoke so that they may continue their meaningless fight. "Can you please get them to go away?" Shadow finally collected the nerve to ask Roavar, glancing questionably upon the group of curious Werewolves. "I find it hardly proper to hold a conversation with these hounds waiting silently to return to their battle."  
Roavar fell on deaf ears for a moment, as if he were angered by her request and were about to lash out upon Shadow for daring to suggest such an atrocious thing. However, his gaze appeared soft, softer then the wool on the thickest sheep, and he finally muttered something placidly under his breath, though Shadow failed to catch it. He gently sat down the glass and the rag with it, though his hands were still resting on the glass. He turned to the group and called, "Alright you animals, break it up! Don't disrespect the Vampyre. Go find a Ghoul to chase or something."  
The group released various groaning sounds as they were ordered to break up their fight. A general feeling of displeasure radiated from their bodies, clearly the result of their desire to see who won the battle. Some of them rushed out the door in disorderly lines, pushing past one another to escape this now dull place. A few of them scrambled back into the corners, finding seats and muttering amongst themselves, keeping their voices low enough to where Shadow was shocked she was unable to hear what they were saying. It was astounding how well these wolves knew their Vampyre companions. They had perfectly mastered the ability to speak out of a Vampyre's hearing range. Instead of learning sit, stay, or roll over, these dogs learned how to remain secretive towards Vampyres. The two in wolf form, the two who had actually been fighting, were the last to move. In fact, until Roavar narrowed his eyes at them, they remained right where they were, refusing to move even an inch, certain they would get what they wanted if they didn't move. However, Roavar's glare had a compass-like effect on them, almost as if two north ends had met and Roavar's polar force was stronger then the other Werewolves', pushing them away. Shadow was shocked by how quickly the two Werewolves rushed to their feet, dashing out the door and forcing one another aside, as if whoever got to the door first would live while the loser would be painfully killed. Shadow watched in confusion, tilting her head to the side, able to observe the awkward behavior of the two brown furred Werewolves fighting each other to rush out the door. Roavar simply picked his glass back up once more, observing with an almost unimpressed expression on his face, as if this were nothing new. Shadow didn't understand how Roavar could watch these Werewolves rushing out like scared little puppies and not seem to care, preferring to clean off a glass as if he hadn't done that a hundred or so times today. Once the Werewolves cleared the building, it fell silent.  
Roavar spat suddenly upon the cloth, using it to wipe off an especially bothersome stain on a glass which wouldn't seem to come off. As he managed to work on removing the stain from the surface of the beer glass, he nonchalantly muttered towards Shadow, "Well, does that help at all?"  
"Yes, thank you." Shadow smiled, glad that she could breath easy without all those anxious eyes staring her down. "How did you get them to leave so very quickly? I thought they only listened to Malak."  
Roavar shook his head, vigorously scrubbing the glass as he did so. "I never said that." he denied upon shaking his head. "I said Master Malak was the only one who cared enough to attempt breaking up fight. I never said they only listened to him and nobody else." Roavar smiled, not one of his usual mirthful grins that said he was simply enjoying the fantastic moments of life, but one of those smiles that said he was about to tell Shadow something he hadn't told anyone else before, something a trifle humorous to him, perhaps. "Don't tell them I told you this, but these Werewolves are pretty scared of ticking me off. I can be pretty fierce when I'm angry. I think some of them are flat out worried I'll kill them if they don't listen to what I tell them to do. Not that I ask much of them, though." Roavar shrugged slightly. "Well, anyways, enough of that. What was it you wanted to ask me?"  
Shadow's ears twitched curiously once more, for Roavar seemed to be very good at suddenly changing topics. Of course, it certainly wasn't as if Shadow were particularly enjoying this debate about whether or not the other Werewolves were scared of Roavar. Let them be, let them not be. It didn't really matter to her one way or another. It was all the same to her. "Yes, that." Shadow muttered quietly, attempting to push other trivial thoughts out of her mind so she would be able to fully focus on Roavar, rather then staring off at some cloud and wondering whether clouds are white or eggshell... something incredibly stupid as so. "Well, Lord Drakan sent me to find Malak so I could have my blood sample renewed, since I am now a Vyrewatch. I was hoping you knew where Malak was." Shadow explained, sounding a little on the melancholy side, which just showed the miniscule degree to which she was actually looking forward to having Malak take her blood. "I'd rather just get this done with as quickly as possible so I can go on with my life. I'm not exactly comfortable with him being so very near my blood, or having my blood near him in general." Some parts of her felt like she shouldn't be telling Roavar of how she was scared of Malak being near her blood, for the fear that he may spread the rumor, as he was so very well known for doing, spreading rumors, that is. However, another part of her couldn't help but want to mutter a few things that were bothering her to someone who's opinion she couldn't care less about.  
Roavar's head turned on it's side, a slightly sympathetic expression glowing on the outlines of his skin. Shadow wasn't sure what to make of the way Roavar was looking at her, but for some reason, it made her feel a little uncomfortable. "Ah, so that is why you have graced us with your presence." Roavar appeared a trifle sheepish, and Shadow soon learned why. "I though it was a little too early for the Vyrewatch to come seeking blood tithes. Anyways, Malak would have said something before he left." He couldn't help but laugh, and Shadow suddenly felt a little bit better about telling him how she really felt, since he had just done the same in return towards her. "That's a load off my furry chest." Another wolfish grin, this one comforting Shadow unlike the last which only bothered her. "Well, I'm troubled to tell you that Master Malak isn't in right now, as I may have mentioned earlier. He said something about a diamond and left. He said he'd be back in a couple weeks, told me to send message to Darkmeyer if he took longer. I'm kind of hoping he doesn't, though, for I'd feel better if I didn't have to contact the Vampyres." Roavar shuddered, which made it clear to Shadow the Vampyres sort of freaked Roavar out. "The Vampyres are great rulers, don't get me wrong. Unfortunately, the last time Master Malak made me send word to Darkmeyer about something unpleasant I got a very nasty response from a Solomon Lamescus. Can't rightfully say I know who that is, but I hope to never meet him in person." Shadow tilted her head ever so slightly. "Either way, Master Malak isn't in. That was a while ago he left, though. Tomorrow will actually be the two week point. Hoping he keeps his word and comes back then."  
Shadow sighed loudly, realizing she would be forced to wait for Malak, for Lord Drakan would surely overreact if she left for any reason. "Nothing ever works how I would like it to, does it?" Shadow rhetorically asked, which Roavar actually understood quite well. "Well, get me a room then, Roavar." She heaved a dejected sigh. "It seems I'll be staying until Malak deems it worthy to return."  
Roavar smiled upon Shadow, a rather understanding smile that made it appear as if he already understood the entire story. "Of course." He ducked under the counter for a minute, grabbing hold of a set of slightly rusted keys, then shot back up. "Here." He handed the keys kindly over to Shadow. "These are the keys to the only room we have left. Space is a little tight right now, sadly. The room is at the top of the staircase. Large door, you can't miss it."  
"Thank you Roavar." Shadow replied, closing her fingers gently over the old set of keys. "This means quite a bit to me." Roavar didn't reply, but his lip curled up ever so slightly into a smile. He watched, his smile widening by a little as Shadow rushed up the staircase, one of the few things in that tavern that didn't creak loudly as you stepped on it. Soon she vanished out of his sight and he went back to his work.  
Unfortunately, he didn't get to work very long, for the door suddenly flew open with a violent slam, a slam that quite literally smashed the door slightly through the wall and snapped it halfway off it's hinges. Roavar jumped, scared out of his skin, at such a loud sound. He could feel his heart racing now, refusing to calm down; his heart was like a group of horses on a racetrack, yearning to outrun each other and win the race. Well, his heart was winning the race by a landslide. He dared to glance up, though not before grumbling to himself, for his fear had caused him to drop the glass he had just started cleaning, shattering it into fine bits. A group of three hustled through the door, a quite interesting group. The head of the group was cloaked, which was nothing new to Roavar, for many people around Morytania cloaked themselves. Roavar could smell the three from a mile away, even though he wasn't in wolf form. The head of the group had a pure death scent to him, something which caused even his nose to wrinkle up. The two with the axes weren't quite as bad, but they weren't exactly enjoyable to smell either. He could tell they were Vampyres, the scents never lie.  
The three approached his counter, completely unaware of the anger they had caused him by shattering his glass. The head of the group slammed his hands on the desk, while the other two stayed a distance away, gripping their weapons with pride and glaring intensely. "You will give me a room." Vanstrom, head of the group, ordered. There was no sense of questioning in his voice. He wasn't asking for a room, he was demanding one.  
Vampyre or Werewolf, Roavar knew he had to remain strong. "Then I'm sorry to inform you that we don't have any left. The last one was just taken not more then a minute ago." he explained, brushing the glass idly to the side to keep his mind busy while he spoke to the intimidating group.  
However, this did not please Vanstrom, who refused to accept a refusal so easily. "So that's how it is then." He lifted up both hands, which caused Roavar to tilt his head on it's side like a curious little puppy. He then pulled down his hood, revealing his flowing white hair and demonic red eyes. Roavar winced, recognizing who this was immediately. "Now, how's about giving me that room?" He hissed, glaring wildly into Roavar's innocent eyes.  
"O-Oh! Va-Vanstrom!" Roavar whimpered, failing to hide the fear he now felt towards the thing in front of him. "Well of course! I-I didn't realize it was you!" Roavar knew you never refused Vanstrom. The anger of any Vampyre was a thing to fear, but Vanstrom's wrath was something you never wanted to ignite. Roavar glanced around nervously, wondering what he was supposed to do. He caught sight of a young female Werewolf wandering through the room with a set of keys and made haste to rush over to her, snatching the keys straight from her long fingers. He dropped the keys in Vanstrom's waiting hands, making sure to act quickly. "See, here you go! N-no need to worry!"  
Vanstrom smirked, causing Roavar to stumble back ever so slightly as he replied, "Very good." He had turned around, when suddenly he came to a dead stop, not even looking back as he said, "Oh, and just so we're clear, no one is to know who checked into this room. Tell someone and we may have a little problem on our hands."  
Roavar answered with a clear snarl, "Of course, Vanstrom." He watched as Vanstrom replaced his hood and hastened with his two guards up stairs, deeper into the bowls of the tavern.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Waiting Game ****  
****Always the late one...**

Shadow awoke with a stretch of the arms the next morning. She never liked sleeping on beds. In fact, Shadow never much fancied herself sleep at all. Vampyres didn't require sleep; it was just something they sometimes did to pass the inexplicably long amounts of time they had to waste. It was extremely clear by looking at Shadow's bed that she had a rough sleep. Ever since she was a young Vampyre she had been used to falling into the typical Vampyre cliché of sleeping in a coffin. Far as she was concerned, you could laugh all you wished, but she would always enjoy the intricate feeling of nestling herself into a coffin, even if the lid weren't closed. Shadow's bed was a complete mess. The covers were in a frenzy, ripped in some spots, thrown on the floor. One of the pillows had been thrown halfway across the room, whereas the other had been torn apart, probably by her sharp teeth. Nobody, not even Shadow herself, understood what caused these night time fits. All that was clear was that she didn't have them in a coffin, thus she slept in one of those instead. Shadow couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed of herself, worried what Roavar might think upon laying eyes on the fine mess she had made of her sleeping quarters.  
She stretched out, yawning loudly as she did so. Morning was a mercy to her mind, for she certainly hadn't enjoyed the previous night sleep. As she stretched her body out much like a cat, her wings unfolded, the tense bones finally able to loosen up as they stretched to their full length. Shadow purred like a pleased cat as her bones made a subtle snapping noise, finally finding resolve from the tense night they had been forced to endure. She didn't even notice her wings whacking items on the nearby table, knocking things off one by one. Shadow paused mid-stretch, hearing the clattering of objects. It was then she noticed that she was making an even further mess of the room, her wings serving as a great way to clear off a desk. Sheepish, Shadow quickly folded her wings up behind her, stopping them from knocking over anything else in either this room or anywhere else in the tavern.  
Her throat felt dry, drier then usual. It was uncomfortable to her, but not something she wasn't used to. When she was a younger Vampyre, spending countless months away from her home city of Meiyerditch, she often found herself suffering from pangs of hunger, hunger for the blood of others. She knew the symptoms all too well. That dry throat, slight hostility, elongating of her pointed fangs. Sometimes it didn't even cross her mind how important it was to get enough blood, to not starve herself. However, it was interesting to note that she would never die from lack of blood. It would, though, cause her to act in a feral manner, trying to drink from anything that moved wrong.  
That was one of the two ways a feral Vampyre was formed, and it was a shame for Shadow to think that some of those hapless monsters wandering the Haunted Woods could have been perfectly qualified Vampyres had they not been starved of blood. Sometimes there just wasn't enough blood flowing through the veins of Meiyerditch, and the higher ranked Vampyres would be given first drink of the blood over the lower ranked ones. There were also times where Vampyres that had extreme rivalries with one another would purposely cut off their enemies from blood, leaving them trapped within a small room until they went insane from the lack of blood, biting into their own arms and legs in an attempt to suck their own blood due to desperateness. The other fashion in which a feral Vampyre was formed was rejection of the transformation. Sometimes, when Vampyres were transformed from humans, they would just naturally become hostile, showing no desire to communicate with their fellows and caring only for vast amounts of blood. These creatures were beyond help, their bodies just not fit for a Vampyric virus. These ones were usually either thrown in the Haunted Woods or killed, if they were deemed to be a threat. Nonetheless, it was upsetting to think that these poor creatures never get to live qualified lives. Then again, Shadow imagined, those creatures probably enjoyed their lives just as they were. They were monsters, preferring to run free over vast miles of land with no rules or laws to bind them. They wished to suck blood with wild abandon, where they were completely free to drain their prey to death. To their frenzied minds, that was probably the greatest heaven they could ever have bestowed upon them. Shadow would never want to live such a life.  
Finding her mind to be confused, Shadow simply decided it would be better to stop thinking to herself about such randomly chosen topics and continue downstairs, possibly to get something to quench her irksome thirst. She gladly left her mess of a room behind, hoping that whatever poor sap ended up having to clean that mess wouldn't mind too much, for she would hate to be a burden to anyone, save for a few people, who she would be more then happy to burden. As she started her trek down the stairs, her half asleep mind became to grow an air of awareness towards a ruckus she had initially failed to notice was happening downstairs. She stopped halfway down the stairs, wondering to herself what exactly could be causing such utter chaos. She yawned once on her pause, figuring she must have been a trifle more out of it then she first though, for her ears had failed to pick up on such a rowdy mess of noise downstairs. Would that really be the best way to start her morning? That was probably a no.  
Deciding to see what was up anyways, despite her minds constant argues to turn around and go back upstairs, Shadow finished her trot down the staircase. As she reached the bottom of the old stairs, she reached behind her, pulling out a long black rod with a purple speared point on the tip. She never went anywhere without her handy spear, having been trained for precious years on how to properly handle it. She knew seldom few Vyrewatch used these spears anymore, but she still fancied them nevertheless. Holding her spear made her feel better about herself, as if it gave her an air of power, something that she could use against others.  
She turned the corner into the main room of the tavern, her spear nearly bashing the wall as she was holding it with a slight tilt. It didn't take long upon entering the room to be drawn into the chaos, to see what was going on with such bold audacity down in the main room of the tavern. Shadow turned her head quickly, sensing something flying her way. She came to see that a glass, one of the ones Roavar had been cleaning the night before, was flying in her direction. Whoever had thrown it was certainly a powerful person, for it was coming at a great speed, which required an even greater force. Luckily, Shadow's Vampyric mind was quite evolved, evolved enough to be able to internally calculate exactly where that projectile was heading and when it would arrive there. Shadow was able to act accordingly, spinning her spear in a few small circles. She was spot on with her timing, and as the spear spun on it's side like a baton, the glass connected with the side of it, shattering wildly. Shards of glass flew across the room, raining down like some sort of ferocious rain. Not a single shard of glass ever touched Shadow, not even the end of her hair or her shoe. Her accuracy was absolutely astounding.  
Once she stopped the glass from smashing her in the face, doing so with an unimpressed expression lurking on her usually emotionless face, she turned her attention in the direction the object had come from, hoping to locate the source. Naturally, she was able to do just so. There across the room near the counter stood Roavar and a female Werewolf whom Shadow did not know the name of. The female Werewolf was in wolf form, soft white hair blown up in a wild frenzy. Shadow could see the way her long snout was wrinkled up, revealing her dangerous teeth adorned within her mouth. Her ears were laid back against her head; that and the furious snarl she adorned revealed that something had greatly angered her. Roavar on the other side, who was still in human form, appeared to be on the other side of the emotional spectrum. He looked as if he were trying to relax her, but was frazzled by her obvious hostility, not to mention how horribly he seemed to be failing to ease her mind. Shadow had seen an angry Werewolf before, they were very easily frenzied creatures. They were quite horrifying when they were upset, very difficult to calm. Sometimes they would get angry over the stupidest things too, like a loose thread on their clothing or a glass of water being too full.  
Roavar winced, seeming upset that he was failing to calm the Werewolf down. He began by saying,"I am quite sorry, madame. I feel bad about how I acted last night and if there is anything I can do to make it up to you, I promise on my feral heart that I will..."  
"NO!" she howled, her snarl growing wider, causing Roavar to flinch back slightly. "How can you just give up my room and act so nonchalant about it!? How!? That was my room, my key, I paid for it! He didn't even pay! He just barged in, smashed the door, and demanded a room! So you took mine!? How can you do that!?" Shadow glanced back towards the front entrance to see if that were true, and yes it was. The door lay there, hanging wide open, only holding on to one hinge instead of both. There was a huge dent in the wall where you could clearly tell that door had been violently smashed through it. Clearly, no one was capable of fixing it as of this moment.  
Roavar continued to try to ease her, despite the furious temper she obviously had. "I told you I was quite sorry for that. There wasn't anything I could do, ma'am. There are certain people you just don't refuse. Surely you can understand that. We've been..." he paused, heaving a depraved sign. "I am willing to more then refund your room. I will also give you any room at half price next time you come to stay here. There's nothing more I..."  
She seemed to fancy interrupting him, for this time she shrieked hatefully over his calm voice, "Stop trying to bribe me, you mongrel!" Even Shadow shuddered, for that was usually an insult only the Vampyres used towards their Werewolf companions. "You can't face up to the fact that you wimped out! You gave it away! You idiotic, worthless little...!" She abruptly smashed her claws down on the table, leaving a huge crack in it. "Shut up! Just, shut up!" Her claw still driven into the table, she jerked it viciously to the side, knocking over a good dozen or so glasses on to the ground as the crack in the table widened, smashing them all into the same fine shards that the one Shadow shattered had broken into. "I'll never come here again as long as I live!"  
The female Werewolf removed her claw from the table, leaving the large, malformed hole embedded in the top for everyone to see. She seemed pleased by the damage she had caused, though still visibly angry, definitely unapproachable. Shadow's ears twitched twice as she watched the angry Werewolf stampede for the door, clearly tired of the argument she was having. Shadow noticed the saddened look on Roavar's face as she trailed to the door, a look which said he desperately wished he could have helped out better then he had.  
Before exiting, the Werewolf turned on her heel, facing back towards Roavar. Shadow knew that whatever she had turned around for wouldn't be good. Roavar knew too, for he himself had spent more days then he can recall around furious Werwolves. He himself had a few horrible temper tantrums in his life too. He knew how impossible an angry Werewolf was. You were better off not even trying. "I mean it too! I'd sooner die then come back here!"  
"You do that, then! I don't even care anymore! Leave, don't come back, commit suicide for all I care!" Roavar furiously barked at her, tired of trying to reason with her anymore. He snarled in her direction, showing her that he was now down being kind. Aware of this change of personality, the female Werewolf continued back on her path of departure. Once she was gone, Shadow heard Roavar mutter under his breath, "At least I won't have to deal with your horrible temper any longer. There's a load off my back."  
As the source of the chaos had now departed, Shadow found it to be much quieter. Nonetheless, the Werewolf had accomplished spreading widespread agony and chaos, which was clear just by looking at Roavar's face. He was clearly distressed, aggravated by the horrible mess that had been made of his once beautiful tavern. The table was torn in half, many of his glasses were in pieces. It was definitely not any simple accident. This would take a while to properly recover from, and Roavar was not looking forward to doing so. Roavar didn't even notice Shadow was watching that entire scene. He didn't notice her presence until she started wandering towards him, in which he finally bothered to look up, internally wondering how long she had been standing there.  
Shadow dared to sit upon one of the stools, which, amazingly, seemed sturdy enough. It occurred to her that they probably hadn't been on of the casualties in the previous ensuing battle. That was enough to please her, for she wasn't looking forward to falling through her seat due to unstable conditions. Once comfortable, Shadow gazed upon Roavar, her face reflecting how badly she felt for him, as he was forced to politely put up with all sorts of idiocy and endless chaos. "What was that all about?" Shadow dared to ask, leaning on a part of the table which had gone unharmed.  
Roavar glanced in her direction for a second, though his mind was clearly somewhere else at the time. He had attempted to quickly recover from such a moment, already working on cleaning up the glass covering the wooden floor below. He only watched her for a fraction of a second, turning his eyes back to the job he was attempting to perform. Even without the source of chaos in the room, the tension was still evident, an aura of irritability still lurking like a storm cloud in the room. Her fury was like a disease, something that quickly spread from one person to another at an outstanding velocity. "She's upset because I gave her room away to someone else last night." Roavar responded, continuing to collect the pointed shards of glass littering the floor. "I know snatching someone's room key right out of there hand isn't a polite thing to do, and I'm sure no one appreciates seeing their room handed away right in front of their eyes." He sighed sadly, finishing, "But there wasn't anything I could do. Like I told her, you just don't refuse some people."  
"Who was it you gave the room away to?" Shadow inquired, tilting her head to the side. She wondered who could be so powerful as to force Roavar to submit and give away a room key so easily.  
Unfortunately, Roavar simply shook his head, remembering what he promised the ferocious Vampyre the night before. "Sorry Shadow. The party requested to remain private. I'm afraid I can't tell you who it was." One side of Roavar's mind felt as if he had just done wrong, by refusing to tell such an innocent little lady such a simple answer. However, the other side of his mind knew it was for the better, for his safety. Somehow, he could feel Vanstrom's presence, almost as if the man were lurking over his shoulder right this instant, waiting for him to mess up. He knew Vanstrom was listening. Fear rushing down his spine, his paranoia caused him to peer over his shoulder, expecting to see Vanstrom standing there behind him, his blood red eyes bearing deeply into Roavar's soul. When Roavar looked back, though, he came to see there was nothing there, that his mind were simply playing tricks on him. Nonetheless, he still knew Vanstrom was listening somehow, even if he weren't eerily lurking behind the poor Werewolf's back. Silly, thought Roavar. For if Vanstrom had truly been luring behind his back, Shadow would have noticed and she surely would have said something, for you cannot ignore such an intimidating man so easily.  
Noticing Roavar's sudden paranoia, Shadow couldn't help but stare. She wondered what he was looking at, for he suddenly glanced over his shoulder as if something were there, which, far as Shadow could see, there wasn't. "Is something the matter, Roavar?" Shadow inquired innocently  
Roavar jumped back to attention, realizing how silly he must have looked glancing over his shoulder. "What?" Roavar couldn't help but asking, startled by Shadow's sudden question. "Oh this?" Roavar motioned behind him, despite there clearly being nothing there. There was no way he could admit that he thought someone was behind him. "I thought I heard something." Roavar lied, pretending as if he simply picked up a strange sound in his ears. "I guess it was just something outside, though. Nothing worth worrying about."  
For a moment, worry passed between Shadow and Roavar, for each was worried about the other one's true actions and motives. Luckily, all barriers must one day be broken, and Shadow abruptly shattered the barrier between the two of them by finally bothering to respond, "Well, that's quite alright. I hear stuff all the time." Though Shadow wasn't quite sure if he truly had just heard something or if some other feeling were washing through him, she secretly knew it wasn't her place to bother him and his internal emotions. She didn't want to be rude, so she just kept to herself.  
"Indeed." Roavar muttered, still a little bit bothered by how he was being forced to hide things from such a friendly Vampyre, one who had never done him wrong.  
Shadow learned forward a little more, trying to avoid the awkward hole in the surface of the table. She avoided it as if it were a virus, like it were going to tear her limb from limb if she happened too closely to it. "Do you have anything to drink, Roavar?" Shadow finally built up the courage to inquire, sitting up just a little. She didn't wish to be a bother, for it was clear to her that he had enough bothers today, but in retrospect, she badly needed something to drink and he was the only one to ask. So in the end, she managed to push past the thoughts that blocked her words, smashing them as the glass shattered, and just ask what was so powerfully on her mind.  
Luckily, Roavar seemed quite understanding of this, smiling as Shadow gently placed her request upon him. It took him a minute to actually reply, for he seemed deeply involved in his work. Shadow was quite patient, observing as he brushed up the misplaced glass, gathering it into one small pile so that he could dispose of it to the best of his abilities. He continued by throwing the glass into a bucket, which was about the best he could produce in the means of disposal unit. Finding the bucket of broken glass rather unappealing, Roavar pushed it back underneath the counter, where it was likely to remain for a very long time. He stood back upright, glancing questionably at Shadow. "You need something to drink?" he asked, appearing to take a couple seconds to understand it. "Hold on just a second." He wandered towards a jar, a strange looking jar full of a thick, disgusting liquid, holding a gushy organ within it, floating haplessly within the unknown liquid, as if it were too busy trying to process the identity of what it was supposed to be floating in. Shadow never knew why they kept a brain in a jar of liquid, who's brain it was, what it's purpose was to be, or why it was posted to be up for sale. In general, it served little to no purpose far as Shadow could see it. "Oh thank Zamorak." Roavar muttered, placing a single hand against the jar as if he were comforting a child after a horrible nightmare. "The pickled brain was left unharmed. That wouldn't have been easy to replace." He seemed very interested in this brain, the reason was unknown, but he was definitely protective over the little thing, whatever it's purpose was. He turned his focus fully back to Shadow upon confirming his unique item to be unharmed. "You wanted blood, am I right?" Shadow nodded quietly. "I thought so. Last I checked Vampyres don't drink much win anyways. Hmm... hold on, my dear. I think I have a barrel of O type blood that I used to serve to Lord Drakan when he hosted private parties here, back before that blasted Shadowland was built." Shadowland was a Vampyric tavern, built deep within the reaches of Darkmeyer. Shadow never really understood it's purpose, though she was beginning to think it may be an avoidance tactic for the Hair of the Dog Tavern. "Ah, here we go! I knew I still had some around here. Just had to locate it."  
It took Roavar a moment to locate a glass that wasn't in shatters, for most of them had unfortunately been completely destroyed. Eventually locating one, Roavar carefully placed it on the table, making certain it did not sit too closely to the large crack. He shook the barrel for about a half of a minute, which was a task often performed on older blood to stir it up and freshen it a little, making it satisfactory for consumption. Shadow's nose twitched as he carefully poured the thick red liquid into the glass, the delicious fragrance of a most scrumptious type of blood rushing into her nose, gently tickling the small hairs within. It had been months... no, more like years... since she had last been graced with the taste of O type blood. She recalled it well, nevertheless, for it was a taste that was not easily forgotten.  
"I hope that is satisfactory, miss Shadow." Roavar smiled, handing the glass carefully off to Shadow, who accepted with grace. "Lord Drakan used to enjoy the taste of it. It was specifically made for him. Usually I would not dare give away his personal blood, but I highly doubt your lord will be gracing us with his presence any time soon."  
Shadow shook her head, lowering her glass a little as she thought to herself. He was quite right, she knew all too well. Lord Drakan was not an easily stirred man, preferring to do things just the way he desired at just the moment he so wished it. If Lord Drakan lost an interest in something or someone, it was very unlikely for him to show a future interest in it later in his life once again. These weren't the comings and going of an obsessed child; this was a Vampyric lord you were speaking about. Needless to say he was never the easily swayed type. When Lord Drakan said he was doing something, there was no way you were going to make him abort the operation. Likewise, if he tells you he no longer wishes to do something else, it is quite probable that you will never see him perform such task ever again in his life. That was just how things worked in Morytania. "That would be highly unlikely." Shadow eventually muttered in response, taking a gentle sip of the blood for the first time.  
A warming feeling washed through Shadow as she took her first taste of the blood. The taste was extravagant, an extraordinary blend of a flowing river of soothing sweetness and a pang of tang that seemed to splash into the slow flowing river like a new coming duckling, a little curious creature throwing ripples in the water as it appeared. It was unlike anything Shadow had ever tasted before. She softly closed her eyelids, imagining a soothing shimmery light, which flickered peacefully, but was beautiful and bright, a color which portrayed her thoughts on the blood's taste. Lord Drakan had outstanding taste, which was something he had often been complimented on. For one of the first times in her life, Shadow openly agreed with his tastes. She had tasted O type blood before, but never had a luscious taste such as this graced her lips before. It was a delicacy, the lord of all delicacies, like the greatest king. Shadow felt as if the gods themselves were stepping across her tongue, giving her their power. She purred softly, hardly even realizing it. Nothing mattered to her over the taste of the blood. It was the only thing on her mind.  
Roavar smiled, noticing the pure enjoyment outlined on every stretch and fold on Shadow's face. "I guess it suits your needs." he rhetorically commented, his smile widening by a little. She failed to answer him, much too focused on the taste of the blood. That didn't bother, Roavar, though. He knew what it was like to finally get a sip of the delectable drink, the flavour you had been looking for. It was a blessing unlike any other.  
Without warning, Shadow woke up from her fantasy, glancing unknowingly around the reaches of the tavern as if she had suddenly developed an awkward case of amnesia. Her eyes appeared lost, trapped in a vortex of time from which they were unable to escape. When Shadow's fantasy realm fall apart, it was replaced by a heavy feeling of realization, a slight sheepish feeling over the way she had previously been thinking. For a moment, when she had described the blood in explicit detail, imaging its taste in a physical form, she imagined everything she had made fun of Malak for, except in herself. Shadow herself felt as if she were Malak, giving the blood a complex analysis as if she were submitting it for an Encyclopedia of blood tastes or something awkward. "I do apologize. I simply lost my train of thought for a moment. It was nothing." She placed the glass on the table, worried what awkward thoughts would race once more through her head if she took another drink. "Mind me asking, how did you get the blood to taste in such a manner?"  
"I wondered if you would ask me such." Roavar responded with a grin, already having come to the realization that this was an intricate flavour to Shadow, one she had never been graced with before. "The blood comes from a Werewolf of unknown origin. His name is Anthony Red-Grave. You can easily recognize him because he is taller then the rest of us, and his wolf form is furrier then the others. Nobody knows where he came from or what his purpose here is. For a while there were strange rumors going around about him desiring to destroy Lord Drakan so that an heir to the throne could take over, but that was never confirmed. Eventually, he went docile, though he's still a valued hunter. He started donating small amounts of blood to us, never much. Lord Drakan liked the taste of it and took it for his own... until recently. I myself added a couple of spices to change the blood's taste a little, but it wasn't anything too complex." Anthony was a strange wolf, Roavar knew that well. He was definitely not of Canifis. It made Roavar wonder, though, it Anthony didn't come from Canifis, then where did he come from? Was he supposed to believe there was another settlement of Werewolves out there somewhere, Werewolves that weren't under the control of Vampyres? Roavar wondered...  
Shadow once more purred, a most delighted noise that portrayed an inner sense of jovial happiness that could only be present in such an awkward Vampire such as Shadow. Shadow was always that one in a million, the cheerful rainbow of personality who didn't quite care much what anyone else said or thought about her. Hers was an interesting story from the front, anyways. Metaphorical father who is a Vampyric Lord, almost like god to their kind; was pushed into the middle of the noble family at an age so young; had seen the Icyene firsthand, their tastefulness and their outstanding beauty; free to wander outside Morytania as she desires, something so many Vampyres had only dreamed to be able to do; and not to mention that she was dating Count Draynor, the young Vampyric mind who had been shunned by so many and denied the right to live amongst his own kind. She was creating a fine tunnel in the wall between Lord Drakan and his younger brother Count Draynor that had naught been touched for several centuries, ages, had it been. No matter what you said, or did, or pondered... Shadow was never quite going to fit into the normal Vampyre category. There were times, though, she that appeared to be for the better. Shadow's cat-like purr, ringing through the tavern with such boisterous pride, was her way of saying she was happy, happy with her surrounding, happy with those around her, happy with the general events, and just happy with herself in general. Happiness was easily labeled. Shadow could care not who ruled what Werewolves, or where they originated from. She only cared that they were Werewolves, humans that changed into canines. That's all the mattered to her. If she could be so easygoing, why couldn't Roavar?  
Roavar glanced towards the young Vyrewatch, who despite seeming very content sipping on her blood and gazing around the room, appeared almost lost, as if she were expecting something to happen that hadn't quite. "Lady Shadow." spoke Roavar, remembering the throw in that 'Lady' that he knew he would have to. "If my tavern does not entertain you, you are free to go outside of it. Canifis isn't the liveliest of places—I won't attempt to sugarcoat my homeland—but I'm certain it's more fun the lolling around my tavern. The Slayer Tower is nearby, you could..."  
"No thank you, Roavar." hummed Shadow, thought she seemed rather dejected, quite out of the blue, as if she had been refused something she so badly desired. "I just don't quite feel myself lately. I think I'd much rather just sit here and skulk around the tavern, if you don't mind."  
"Of course I don't mind, my lady." Roavar responded with a smile, though the evident degree to how that smile was fake, just plastered on with some swamp tar, was making it hard to maintain. "Just try not to bother my customers and please don't get in the way of the private party. I think it'd be safer for all of us if our private guests were just left alone, well alone." Roavar shivered at the thought of angering Vanstrom.  
Upon being spoken to, Shadow gazed upwards, and emotionless haze clouding her usually shimmering red eyes. This wasn't the general lack of emotion a Vampyre held, this appeared almost as if it were sucked out of her. She eventually plastered on a smile, then replied, "Don't claw yourself over it, Roavar. I'm just bored; I always am. You may think we're entertaining, but you'd be amazed how boring being a Vampyre gets, especially when your only forms of entertainment are annoying other Vampyres until they throw you over the city wall or listening to one of the nobles tell you a story you've heard a thousand times over. I just, have no interest in this town or the infernal beasts in the Slayer Tower... or anything." She paused, before adding glumly, "And you needn't call me Lady. I'm not going to throw you in the bloodfarms like the rest of my kind if you don't use such a term."  
A feeling of total loss washed over Roavar like a rouge tidal wave, as if the sirens blaring in his head were telling him, storm approaching, dock the ships, you failed to reach shore. There was Shadow, sitting along on a tropical island, palm trees blazing in the ravenous winds, but there stood Roavar on the city shore, trapped, and unable to assist her. He could only watch as she was eaten away by the waves, which she didn't appear to fight against. There had to be a bar, a pause, anything that could break Shadow's silence, that could be the rewinder to the calm before the storm, something to perk Shadow's spirits. Eventually, a dim light shining in Roavar's skull, he leaned in front of Shadow and, though he was a little anxious to do so, suggested, "If you're looking for something new and interesting, you could go to the cellar. Ever since the Myreque abandoned that cave, it's become a little lair for one of the Werewolves."  
"Why should I care?" Shadow asked coldly, pushing a metaphorical bar between the two of them which appeared very suddenly and would not be easy to pass, but not impossible either. This was simply a time when it had to be approached with the utmost caution.  
Roavar gulped slightly, trying to get through to such a confusing mind. One moment she was happy as could be and the next she seems as if the world is ending, like Zamorak were about to rain fiery doom upon Morytania that no power would be great enough to stop. "Well, you made a comment about how much you liked that blood, right." Shadow's gaze, though mostly unamused, showed a shallow hint of interest. "Well, Anthony is the Werewolf who made his home in the old Myreque hideout. I don't really know what he does down there, but he's a nice enough fellow. Maybe you should go down there an introduce yourself. He's a Werewolf from out of Canifis, where ever that settlement may exist. It might be something new for you." Anthony was something new for everyone. The way that wolf's mind worked... He always acted as if he were so unimportant, as if he didn't give two cents about anyone else, which went double for the Vampyres, but... there had to be more. He spent so much time ignoring Werewolves, rejecting Vampyres, acting as if he didn't exist in that dank hole of muck in the ground. There had to be some story behind it. Everyone has a story. Unfortunately, Anthony and Roavar had never become close enough to share such a story. Anthony always claimed Roavar was under him, and that he was looking for someone who's power could match up to his, for that was who he would trust with his plan, a plan that was for everyone's sake. What was the plan? Well, Anthony was shy about telling, suffice to say.  
Shadow lowered her head, falling into a rather dejected looking state of mind. The brisk, melancholy winds of sadness fluttered past her, revealing the inner emotions she was trying to mask under her fake feelings. Roavar's smile faded further, him delivering her a look which said how he felt for her, how he wished she would be happy again, how he wanted to know what was bothering her. Shadow, with foresight working in her favour, almost instantly knew why he was watching her, and not wanting to bring worry to his mind, for he already had enough to fret over, she muttered, "Don't worry about me, Roavar."  
Unsuspecting of a response, Roavar glanced upwards, still uncertain of whether or not he had actually been spoken to. "Pardon?" he inquired, his tall ears flicking like a curious puppy. "Did you say something?"  
"I said not to worry about me, Roavar" Shadow repeated, leaning upwards slightly in her seat as if something had lightened her mood a little. She sat her glass down, though it still had a little blood left in it, and she pushed it ever so slightly aside, like the blood's taste no longer appealed to her tongue. "I'm a Vampyre." Roavar, unsure what to think, tilted his head to the side. "Don't think I'm depressed or anything, is what I'm saying. Vampyres have been around since the early second age, though I clearly have not been around so long, but what I'm trying to say, Roavar, is that when you've been alive as long as any Vampyre has, everything has already been done, not as much is new. We act bored quite often because we have already done everything, we've seen it all, we've done it all... it's all boring. I am just falling victim to the common Vampyre boredom spells, nothing more. There is nothing for you to worry about." For a moment, Shadow appeared as if she were considering taking another sip of blood, but she must have suddenly lost interest, for she instead turned her head away and lost any interest in the glass.  
However, Roavar didn't wish to give up this quickly on the Vampyric lady. He wanted to please her, to make her happy, and with any luck, have her involuntarily put in a good word about Canifis to Lord Drakan when she returned back to the city of Darkmeyer. The question was, what? How was he to please her? These thoughts rambled through his mind, but they would only crash into one another and shatter like frail glass, the shards flying in several directions and thousands of small pieces, impossible to recollect and put back together. Finally, his mind failing him, he gave up and asked, "Is there anything I can do to help, Lady Shadow? Something I can do for you, or... anything, to make you feel more entertained... If there is something you desire, please do tell me."  
Shadow glanced quietly over in Roavar's general direction as he spoke to her, her emotionless eyes focused on his every single feature. After an elongated period of silent staring at the worried Werewolf, she finally muttered in response, "Unless you can make Malak appear out of thin air so that we may get this done with, I would imagine not."  
"Unfortunately, I cannot control Master Malak's actions." Raovar sadly responded, knowing that the sheer comment of making Malak appear from thin air was a subtle way of her refusing his help. "If I could, trust me when I say I would bring him here immediately, do trust. I am no mage, though, so there is nothing I can do to assist you in that matter." Hoping to get her to come crawling out of her blackened shell, Roavar inquired upon her, "Is there not anything else I can do to please you?"  
Regrettably, Shadow dejectedly shook her head upon the hopeful Werewolf, causing his hopes to fall like a bird with it's wings clipped. "Then there is nothing more you can do." She muttered, glancing inside her glass at the thick liquid inside. Roavar observed in mystification as she dipped her finger into the liquid, twirling it in slow, graceful circles, creating a gentle whirlpool within her glass. Roavar was unable to discover why she was performing such an action, but she eventually brought her finger out, gazed over it as if she were expecting something to have changed, then, with her narrow, smooth tongue, licked it. "I think I'll just have some more bloodwine, if you may." Roavar simply nodded, no longer trying to debate with her; he then agreed and proceeded with, her request.  
This moment had not gone on only between Roavar and Shadow, however, for eagle-like ears were listening thoughtfully in on the conversation. Directly above the two was a room, occupied by three tall, eerie figures. Two of them stood motionless by the door, waiting the moment when someone dared to saunter in so they could react with grand hostility. The third sat upon the bed, bent ever so slightly over, his ears twitching as the conversation he had been listening to was coming to an end. "Malak's disappearance is an inconvenience." he announced abruptly, leaning back upwards at such a dragging pace that he seemed almost effortless in getting upright, like it didn't matter how long it took him to get there, or if he got there at all. "The longer this plan proceeds the more it begins to irritate me. We must make some sort of action, or I will grow ever tired of this."  
One of the men guarding the door had his blood-red eyes focused on his master the entire time, absorbing every word and making certain not to even blink, so long as there was a chance his master may see. "I apologize, Lord Vanstrom, for the difficulty we are traversing through. Had I known Master Malak wasn't going to be here, I would have suggested proceeding with the plan otherwise." He paused his speech for a moment, worried by the way his master's eyes were narrowed ever so slightly. Realizing this was sure to happen, he continued by suggesting, "We could always carry on the plan now, if you would desire it so?"  
Vanstrom shook his head upon hearing such a request, knowing that continuing in such a fashion would not be strategically intelligent. "No." Vanstrom huffed, turning his head to the side so that he no longer watched the guard. "We shall continue to lay in wait." Vanstrom rose abruptly to his feet, and his guards knew almost instantly that something else must have crossed Vanstrom's mind for him to so hastily rise from where he had seated himself. "There is something I would like to know of, though, something I would desire to obtain." With haste did Vanstrom cross the room, speaking to his guards as he did so. "Come men, I wish to search Shadow's room."  
The guards simultaneously tilted their heads to the side, both ultimately confused by Vanstrom's sudden decision. Though fearful to question someone with such power, and someone who was so quick to show anger towards others, one of the guards—the only one that ever talked, of course—finally spoke up by asking, "Don't mind me asking, but, why would you like to do that, Lord Vanstrom?"  
However, Vanstrom failed to answer, instead pushing past the two curious guards and out the room, bringing with him that air of evil that lurked like a plague around him. It was never a good thing when Vanstrom ignored your questions, for it was to either be assumed that you had royally ticked him off and that he was done with your nonsense, or that he was planning something against you, usually for the same general reason. Either way, it was an expectantly piteous reaction to receive from Vanstrom at any given moment in time, for any given reason. Exchanging confused looks, for Vanstrom's actions seemed to be contradicting what he had just declared no less then a minute ago, the guards decided to no longer question Vanstrom's unknown motives and simply act as any guard would and follow their master without a second thought. By the time the two of them reached Vanstrom, the eerie man was already at Shadow's door, fiddling with the lock that was to ensure nobody entered that was not supposed to. The guards stopped behind him, about to ask what he was doing when suddenly the huge, thick lock released an unmistakable click, falling to the ground with a subtle bang. It then occurred to the guards that Vanstrom, with his fine-tipped nails, had picked the lock. Never did Vanstrom fail to impress his followers, something they reminded him of often. Even so, they kept to themselves on this occasion, standing static on the border of silence as Vanstrom pried open the door, wandering in, and they, following.  
Vanstrom glided into the room ever so gracefully, his billowing red cape flowing elegantly behind him as he did so. He moved with such light steps, almost as if his feet were not even touching the ground at all. It often confused people, how a man so malevolent, so supernatural, could move about with such beauty and grace. Upon stopping, Vanstrom gripped the edge of his cape, pulling it over his chest as if he were trying to hide himself from something... or someone. His guards stood thoughtlessly behind him, saying absolutely nothing as Vanstrom's eyes darted around Shadow's room, which was, for the most part, tidy. There were a few things knocked over, the bed was a mess... but compared to any room Vanstrom had managed, it was absolutely perfect, hardly a thing out of place. It mattered not to Vanstrom whether every single object was exactly where it was supposed to be or if the room appeared as if a tornado had raged angrily throughout it. He would scour the room either way and it would matter not to him. If Vanstrom wanted to find something, and it was around to find, he would find it regardless the conditions of the location he was searching.  
Whatever it was, Vanstrom seemed certain it was around, and his guards dared not make a single move as they observed him swiftly darting across the room, glancing into corners, underneath objects, and other various places in an attempt to locate something unknown. "With all due respect, my Lord Vanstrom," the guard began, his head turning to the side as he observed Vanstrom busily burrowing through a dresser, as if he were some sort of groundhog trying to dig his hollow, "what is it that you are hoping to locate?"  
Once more did the guard receive no response, which caused him to fall into an awkward state of silence, for he feared speaking any further would in fact provoke a response, and not the sort of one he had been hoping for. Whatever Vanstrom was doing, whatever he was hoping to locate and wherever it may be, he wanted to do it alone, without interruption. He may not have said anything, but being completely ignored said more then a novel from Vanstrom, and it was not a novel in which a happy ending occurred.  
Unsure of what to do, for Vanstrom refused to accept assistance or even tell them what he was so eagerly hunting for, the guards remained frozen where they were, precisely in the center of the room, as if they were the sun in the room's solar system, which made Vanstrom one of the planets, but a confused planet, for he did not make perfect orbits around the sun. Sometimes he would wander too close or too far or move at a pace of which is too quick or to slow. His progression was not impeded by their presence, though, for his merely acted as if they were not even there, like they were two ghosts of a time long since past, and Vanstrom were an innocent person, blissfully ignorant to their presence as he frolicked around the room. The guards often grew wary, as time passed, for they wondered if Shadow would attempt to return to her room. Though they could hear her downstairs, still they fretted, and they were indefinitely ready to hustle Vanstrom quickly out of the room should she abruptly decide to return. Vanstrom rushed, speed being his guide as he flew through anything he could locate in order to determine the location of his unknown object. Just as of this moment, Vanstrom had his face buried deep within a drawer on the nightstand, throwing various objects over the edge as he searched, for they were evidently not what he had been so hopefully searching for. Many-a-times did Vanstrom's guards consider suggesting they give up, to tell him that whatever he was searching for clearly did not exist in this room and it wasn't worth getting spotted over just to prove so. Withal, what if Shadow decided to wander in at the wrong time? She would not react well to Vanstrom nosing through her stuff, and it would cause an unavoidable and displeasing delay that Vanstrom would never allow the two guards to forget. They were too timid, too scared of Vanstrom's wrath, though, to make such a bold statement. So instead, they kept quietly to themselves and continued to observe.  
The guards were literally moments from getting over their fears, no longer worrying about how Vanstrom would react, to tell him that such comment. They did not, however, get that far, for Vanstrom suddenly flung his head upwards and with a happiness he rarely exhibited, loudly declared, "I found it!"  
Willing to risk Vanstrom's fury, the two guards hustled over to their master, hovering questionably over his shoulder to look at what he had found. They were expecting something amazing, something rare or something worth a lot of money. Suffice to say the disappointment reflected on their faces was evident when the object reflected into their dull red eyes was nothing more then a dreary black stone. It was just a slab of black, and though it released an eerie black glow, which dimly vibrated, almost as if there were life within that pulsing blackness. Despite this, it was nothing more then a black crystal shaped stone, and it didn't appeal to either Vampyric guard was unique or special. "No offense intended, my Lord," interrupted the guard, who dared to break the joy reverberating in Vanstrom's eyes, "but that is just a black rock. Pardon my asking, but what is so special about this thing that we had to risk our cover to find it? First question, actually, may be, what exactly am I looking at?"  
This was a daring move, and Vanstrom portrayed that with a spiteful glare of his atrocious red eyes. The guard got off lucky, though, for Vanstrom's gave thankfully softened and he finally answered, "This is called a Dusk Stone." Vanstrom began with a vain smirk. "It's special because it summons a Blood Dragon."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Malak Arrives ****  
****And not a moment too soon**

Downstairs Shadow never once sensed the conspiracy unraveling so silently above her head, far too interested in her drink to even care to listen to upstairs activities. It wouldn't have mattered anyways, for Vanstrom and his guards had already gotten a hold of the Dusk Stone, rearranged the room to look as it had when they had first entered it, and long since fled back to their dwelling, where they once more listened in on the young Vampyre lady lurking down below.  
Roavar often threw concerned glances Shadow's direction. All throughout the day she maintained the same posture, hunched over her glass, drinking with greedy gulps, which sort of worried Roavar, as he had never seen her drink so hopelessly. It was almost as if this were her last drink, that once she exited the room she would never be able to enjoy blood again. She hardly ever moved from her spot, seeming content to mope in the same place and attempt to give a crap which was clearly not there. Throughout the day her head had lowered more and more, and she looked as if she were a combination of explicitly bored and running on the fringe of hopeless. Roavar often wanted to say something, anything, to make her stand up and smile, but he felt as if he could never bring her joy, that anything he told her would only fail to please her. Therefore, he kept to himself all day, getting Shadow whatever she asked for-and she asked for some pretty insane things-whenever she asked for it. It appeared to Roavar as if Shadow were simply drinking anything she could force down her throat to please herself. Roavar had to access some blood barrels that he never thought anyone would drink, barrels he only had just in case a Vampyre noble came into his tavern and threw some wild test at him in which they asked for blood from the most frivolous of specimens, and if he didn't have it… Roavar shuddered at such a thought.  
There was an awkward silence around the tavern, a silence that Roavar was not sure whether he enjoyed or disliked. He knew why it was so quiet, for Shadow didn't seem too keen on Werewolves entering the tavern, and the ones that did seemed to prefer remaining quiet and not disturbing a Vampyre, just in case she were the touchy sort, for they knew how Vampyres treated those they were angry with. On one side, Roavar like the silence. Sure, he had gotten used to the loud noise, but sometimes it felt nice to be able to gently breathe as you work and know that you can hear those breaths. There was no one to be angry with and no one wrecking anything. On the other hand, the noise was some awkward sort of comforter to him, for as previously mentioned, he was very used to it. Without noise, this just didn't feel like his tavern anymore. Roavar was still conflicted over which emotion he should feel. He knew that once she left, things would return to normal; none of the Werewolves even noticed Malak and after a while, Roavar noticed Malak simply got tired of yelling at Werewolves who refused to listen to him. He was nothing new, they knew him well. Shadow, however… they didn't know how she would react, thus silence fell.  
Countless hours passed and within those countless hours, there wasn't much change in Shadow's posture. There was hardly any change at all. It took a while for anything to happen. Roavar hardly even noticed when a spectral presence entered his tavern, for the newcomer had no need to open the door, as she could simply phase right through what remained of it. For a moment, Roavar's lip curled up in a snarl, but then he recognized the relaxed expression on the Banshee's face and realizing who it was, relaxed himself. He knew she would never ask for anything, she never did. This Banshee, who always remained in such a calm state of mind, would always enter his tavern, speak with some of the customers, and leave eventually. He never really understood what she was up to, but he heard rumors about a group running under Morytania that worked side jobs and that she may be a member for the group. However, rumors spread around Canifis often, for Werewolves needed something to do when they weren't fighting or sleeping, and spreading false rumors was often an interesting past time; since Roavar never really knew what to believe, he didn't really think the group existed. His ears twitched as the Banshee floated thoughtlessly across the tavern, stopping in front of a Werewolf. The two of them fell into quick conversation-she was such a friendly soul-and Roavar, not wanting to be rude, turned his head away, refusing to listen in.  
Shadow didn't even seem at all fazed by the Banshee's presence. For a while, Roavar wondered if she were even aware that the Banshee has entered the building, but he eventually realized she simply had to have known. Vampyric hearing was far too good for her not to have noticed such an event passing. It was just highly probable that she didn't care about the event and decided to let it pass by like she had the rest of the day she lolled about.  
Night was falling, or so Roavar though. To be honest, it was difficult to tell when night had truly fallen or if Morytania was simply going through another one of its creepy dark spells. There were times when the land of Morytania fell on darkness, when for reasons undefined, the sky would turn many shades more pitch of black then they already were. It was almost like the eclipses that the rest of the world had, but Roavar knew Morytania didn't get eclipses. The power of Lord Drakan looming over the land scared off many things, life, the sun, happiness… the eclipses were also startled by his power, and thus never occurred. These periods of darkness were nothing more the unnatural phenomenon. Some Werewolves spread rumors about these extreme periods of darkness. They liked to say that when Lord Drakan becomes fiercely angry, when his fury is at its boiling point and it's already spilling over, that the darkness he brings to this land increases, as a way of informing the rest of his empire that he is displeased. Roavar liked to think that wasn't true, that this was nothing more then a supernatural occurrence of no true reason, but there was a side of Roavar which sort of did believe those rumors. To think Lord Drakan's emotions could control the whether… it was a worrisome thought to go to bed on. Luckily, night had a different scent from day, a scent which only Werewolves and Vampyres could pick up on. Roavar sniffed the air, his nose pointed ever so slightly up, and it smelled of night. Night was indeed falling, as was rain.  
It was awkward to think about, but now that he stopped for a second, Roavar could indeed hear rain dancing off the roof of his tavern. It wasn't a heavy downpour, it rarely ever was, but it was raining. Roavar was astounded at the rain, to say the least. Morytania had an outstandingly low rain rate, especially for a swamp. It was the second worse rainfall of anywhere, only beaten by Al Kharid desert, which Roavar wasn't sure got rain at all. Suffice to say, rain was a rare sight, yet, Roavar liked it. He smiled, feeling pleased at the rain, feeling it relax him as he had to approach Shadow.  
Roavar approached the lady with caution, making certain he made not even the slightest error in his movement. He hadn't known Lady Shadow for very long, she hardly even stopped by the tavern. Rumors were commonly spread about her, but they were in such variation that Roavar was completely unsure of which ones he should and shouldn't believe. Suffice to say, he wasn't sure what to think of her. Was she extremely hostile, as he had heard…? Should he instead believe the rumor that she was a very passive soul…? He simply wasn't sure what to think.  
With the utmost caution did he tap on her shoulder, ready to jump back if she reacted poorly. Luckily, Shadow glanced thoughtlessly over her shoulder, almost as if she could care less who just tapped her… or if anyone were even there at all. She said nothing verbally, but her eyes portrayed every word she could have needed to say, and even some she didn't need to say. "Lady Shadow." Roavar began politely, making certain she remained passive as she were right now. "Night is falling. I do not believe Master Malak will be returning this day. You should return to your quarters and…"  
"No." Shadow muttered, cutting Roavar off quite boldly. She appeared to not care if she cut him off, as long as she got her comment in before he could advise her any further. Roavar shuddered slightly at the malice behind the way she told him no. Then he saw the expression reflected in her eyes and realized it held no hostility, not even an intent to be so, thus he felt his muscles relaxing quite a bit. "I wish to stay up a bit longer before I give up." Turning her head away, like she didn't want him to know she said this next part, she added, "Not like I need sleep anyways."  
"Of course not, Lady Shadow." Roavar agreed quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly. Roavar learned the hard way that it was much better for not only your health and safety, but everyone else's as well, if you just agreed with anything a Vampyre said. He threw her a nod as he replied. "If you wish to stay awake, so be it. Can I fetch you anything to drink while you wait?"  
Shadow paused for a moment, contemplating whether or not she would like a drink and if so, which drink she wanted. It didn't take her long to decide, and as she pushed aside her empty glass, she muttered, "I would like some more of your specialty AB, if you don't mind." Her head lowered once more, and Roavar swore she could read his mind.  
Roavar gulped slightly, then timidly replied, "Well, m'lady, you are beginning to break into Malak's personal supply and…" Roavar could feel his heart skip a beat as Shadow swiftly rose her head and turned it on him, her red eyes narrowing in on him. The way she glared horrified Roavar, as if her eyes were digging into his chest and gnawing away at his heart, ripping and tearing until nothing remained. Whatever the gaze meant, it was not good. Eventually, Roavar felt his heart cave, and he changed his answer by saying, "Of course, we can always get more for Malak… and I'm sure he won't mind giving some of it up to you. I mean… you are a noble lady and…" He turned around, pointing towards the counter and muttering, "I'm gonna go fill up your glass now." He fled before she could comment.  
Even after he narrowly escaped that malevolent glare Shadow had been throwing at him, Roavar couldn't resist but hazard another glance back at her. She had already calmed herself, much faster then anyone else he knew. In fact, her face, which had been twisted up in anger, now bore the expression of a person who's mind was at ease. She didn't look dejected, as she had most of today, but more so content, as if there were things displeasing her, but they were balanced out by those that pleased her. Roavar sort of found solace in this emotion, and hoped to keep it in such a manner, for there were times when an overly pleased Vampyre was just as horrifying as a displeased one. You never knew what those fanged creatures were thinking when they looked upon you, or upon anything, for that matter. Roavar often wondered how often they plotted, how many things they would gave upon and wonderful in a manner of malice, how they could abuse that object or organism for their own personal gain. Sometimes it was better if you kept them locked in a neutral state of mind; they were less likely to react towards you that way. Lady Shadow didn't strike Roavar as a spiteful Vampyre by nature. In fact, he felt as if she preferred being neutral towards other things rather then hostile anyways, something which he actually was quite right about. Shadow was not a hostile person by nature, and though she sometimes abused techniques that Vampyres used to get their way, it wasn't something she made habit of. In fact, she didn't really like it, to know that she was scaring someone into doing something they already didn't want to do. Yet, against that feeling, she still pulled that trick from time to time nevertheless.  
Roavar made haste with the drink. The specialty was something Malak himself had made up. He was always such a stickler for blood, and once Roavar and Malak had gotten into a heated argument when Malak contradicted his drinks as all tasting the same. Roavar retorted with how he should make his own. To this day, Roavar was still astonished by Malak's reaction, for he were so certain the Malak would have torn out his heart for responding with such spite towards a Vampyre noble. Instead, Malak replied that he would make up his own drink and came back about a week later bearing the recipe for a drink he claimed would actually taste good. It must have been good, whatever it was, for the Vampyres actually liked it and spent less time complaining and more time drinking. Roavar worried about some of the ingredients, as Malak had not only asked for blood from a rather interesting source, but also required that it have a bunch of weird herbs and other objects added to it. Roavar always had difficulty getting a hold of that Lantadyme he asked for-at least Irit and Tarromin were fairly common herbs-and he would be damned if he knew what Vampyre Dust was doing in a blood drink. Roavar had never told anyone what was in it, but he was often worried that if one of the Vampyres asked, and he would be required to tell them or be beheaded, that they would throw up, then maul him, for serving them a drink with such foul ingredients. Luckily, none of the Vampyres appeared to care… yet. He hoped it stayed that way too. It was a very slow mixing process, and this was why he always made certain he had barrels lying around, for he knew Malak wouldn't wait for him to mix it up. Getting the blood was easy, for he was asked to get it from the rather mysterious 'werewolf' living in the mansion, Fenkenstrain, he believed the name was. He wasn't sure why, as Vampyres claimed Werewolf blood was disgusting, but when asked about this, Malak would just smile and say something along the lines of that man's blood tasting better then he thought it did. Mixing it with the other ingredients was the difficult, not to mention slow, part. He quickly poured the liquid into the nearest glass, not bothering to check if it was cleaned, and hustled to deliver it to Shadow.  
Roavar had literally just sat the glass in front of Shadow, so soon that she hadn't even gotten to put her hands on it, when the doors flew open, causing both Roavar and Shadow to gave up with a curious glint in their eye. Roavar hid a moan skillfully, for when the newcomer had entered, he had completely broken the door off it's hinges. Rain from outside flitted in through the opening, joyful to see that it had finally found a way to sneak into the unsuspecting tavern. The newcomer immediately became angry at the door as it broke, and hissed hatefully, "What did you do the damn door?"  
Standing in the doorway, dripping from the rain, but appearing only to show fury towards the door, was a man, who was short for his gender and species. He was clothed in dark purple, which seemed to reflect night off of it like a mirror and in that reflection, portrayed just how hateful of a man existed behind the threads. A narrow and thin white cape billowed behind him, which seemed almost invisible behind all that purple he wore. His shirt contained a tall red collar, about the only thing besides the cape that wasn't a shade of purple. He had very short, well trimmed and combed, black hair, which was v-shaped in the middle of the forehead. All around, this man definitely portrayed your classic stereotypical child of the night, a typical cliché of a Vampyre as portrayed by humans outside of Morytania. Shadow didn't mind the stereotype; she probably thought it was cool. Oh, but how Roavar would have longed to tell him about his cliché, but knowing instantly who the man was, and knowing that he would never be able to speak against this man once more and survive, he fell silenced, for this man, who was already so very furious at something even after only having been arrived for no more then a minute, was Master Malak.  
"It was not me who broke the door, Master Malak." Roavar gently argued, making certain that despite this clearly being an argument statement, that it sounded nothing of the sort. "It was Va-a visitor to the tavern who broke it. If you want to speak with him about it you can; I can give you his room number and everything if it would help, but…"  
"Don't bother." Malak hissed, trudging through the door and trailing his soaking cape behind him. He seems more then displeased at the current situation, but also appeared to be attempting to ignore it. Shadow, now losing interest, turned away, beginning to drink the blood she had not even gotten to so much as look at. Malak glanced over as Shadow drank, his nose twitching ever so slightly as he observed her drinking. He finally turned on Roavar, another glint of hate flickering through his eyes as he asked, "Roavar," Roavar glanced up almost immediately as his name was spoken, though he didn't like the spite dripping off Malak's tongue as he spoke, and he feared the worst as Malak finished his question, "is that my private stash of blood?"  
Once more did Roavar gulp, feely utterly nervous at the question he had just been presented with. Roavar knew he had given away some of Malak's personal blood, blood that only he drank, his personal request to never be served to anyone else, but on the other hand, he was so fearful of the way Shadow glared at him that he felt as if there were no possible way he could refuse. Shuddering, Roavar attempted to respond, "I-I'm quite sorry Master Malak. It's just… Lady Shadow asked for some and I couldn't… there w-was no way I could refuse her. If you would j-just…"  
Malak's frustrated gaze turned upon Shadow as she spoke up, which gave Roavar a moment to rest upon his mind. "I do pardon, Malak." Shadow began politely, sitting her glass down upon the table despite clearly being in the middle of drinking. "I was horribly thirsty and it was I who forced Roavar to give me some of your personal blood. You must forgive, for I simply can't resist the taste of it. You've chosen the ingredients all too well."  
Malak's glare softened, and he appeared to be on calmer lines then he had been earlier. Roavar hid his sigh of relief, and as he glanced in Shadow's direction, he could have sworn he spotted he lip curl up ever so slightly in a smile. That's when it occurred to Roavar… Had Shadow purposely buttered up Malak just to get him off the hook for giving away the blood? Malak had always commented that he was immune to such things, but from Roavar's point of view, that was exactly what it appeared as if she had done. Regardless, he was grateful that Malak no longer appeared to mind. As long as Roavar could pause to hear himself breathe and think, he could care less what means were chosen to get here.  
Roavar observed in silence as Malak removed his cape, a rather unexpected twist of events. Without a word did Malak wring the rain water from his cape, acting as if the water meant nothing, just moving it from his cape to the floor, not that it made a difference to him. Roavar's ears flicked once. Shadow's head tilted a little. Shadow had to wonder if Roavar was displeased at the water being wrung to his floor, which he was very much so. However, Roavar had, in the past, had worse things on his floor, so he quickly got over it. Anyways, Malak held authority as of this moment and if Malak wanted to wring the water from his cape on the floor, then so be, and there was not a thing Roavar would say or do about it that wouldn't end with him being the next thing Malak wrung out on the floor. With a flick of the wrist, Malak swung his cape, it swooshing behind him as he carried it to the nearest place to hang it, a place where it was left to completely dry out.  
"Blasted rain…" Malak muttered hatefully as he abandoned his white cape on the hook, changing topics at such an outstanding rate it were almost as if everyone had been speaking of their dislike of the rain when he arrived. "I can't remember the last time it ever rained in Morytania, and it just happens to be the one day I'm out and about. What sort of luck is that?"  
Shadow failed to respond to Malak, certain it was a rhetorical question or that she, at the least, wasn't obligated to care. Roavar, however, always answered Malak's questions just in case they weren't rhetorical, for if they were literal and he failed to answer, Malak would be very angry. Thus Roavar lowered his head and responded, "That would be bad luck, Master Malak. But I'm sure it will improve."  
In response to Roavar, Malak hissed spitefully, "It had better." That intricate way he said that, the way it seemed directed literally at Roavar… It were almost as if he was blaming Roavar, and telling the innocent Werewolf that he had better improve his luck or else, like it was his fault, which is obviously wasn't. However, there was no arguing for Roavar with Malak.  
As Malak crossed the room, he held out his hand, a single finger pointed seemingly at nothing. This appeared very majestic to Shadow, and she could help but stare as he wandered towards her, taking a scenic route around tables and chairs to reach her. It soon became clear to Shadow that Malak was dragging his finger as a way of taking control of the shadows around him. The shadows danced from their corners, almost as if Malak had finally convinced them to stop hiding, and now they leapt from their hiding spots, ready to show what they truly had with a bold audacity few had. Malak nonchalantly raised his hand by just a little, the darkness of which he called gracefully following, and thus it continued to follow as he gently circled his hand and finger. Shadow smiled, hiding a small blush. The way Malak prowled across the room like a wild Larupia cat, combined with the wonder of the darkness literally prancing around his slow, careful moving figure truly brought out his inner beauty, a side of Malak which Shadow found a trifle difficult to resist after watching for a while. Roavar himself didn't understand what all the overemphasizing and dramatics were about, for he was simply not the right soul to comprehend such stark passion, and he never would be, either.  
When Malak finally reached where Shadow was sitting at, he flicked up both hands. The shadows twirling around him suddenly shot up, looking almost like a shimmering glitter in inverted colors as it changed from the thick lines it had twirled around him in to a powdery cloud, slowly falling around his figure and once more, amusing Shadow. This time, she quickly picked up her glass and took a drink of blood to hide another smile she could think of any other way to hide. When the darkness Malak had been controlling hit the ground, Shadow observed in deep interest as it flowed back to the corners from which it had been stolen, returning the shadows that the world looked otherwise so out of place without.  
Once his performance was over, and Shadow was able to return the glass back to it's place on the table, Malak nonchalantly leaned against a table behind him. He began directly speaking to Shadow by saying, "Lady Shadow," she noted the emphasis he had put on the word 'lady', "I presume?" This time Malak smiled, and it was difficult for Shadow to look away.  
Returning the smile out of a polite aptitude, Shadow responded, "You've got the lady part right, Malak." Shadow had never quite known what Malak's title was, or if he even had one at all. Lord Drakan screwed up the system of titles so horribly, since even though Lord was the equivalence of Lady, he did not want anyone else having his title; this apparently gave him the right to change every title's purpose. Regardless, the closest to a title Shadow had ever heard for Malak was when the Werewolves and lower ranked Vampyres called him Master Malak, and as a high ranking noble, there was simply no way Shadow was calling him as so. "You're a little late."  
"Do pardon, m'lady." Malak beamed, wandering a little from his spot. "It's just that I…" His eyes narrowed suddenly and he abruptly turned his gaze back on Roavar, who, from the other side of the room, was staring in wonder at the Vampyric duo. "Do you mind, dog? We are attempting to hold a private conversation. Go chew on some bones or something else you creatures do."  
Roavar attempted to mask the disgusted sigh he released, for even though he saw the insult coming,-it was nothing new to Roavar that Malak didn't like Werewolves-he still found that he didn't like being referred to in such a manner, even by one above him. Nevertheless, he submitted and with a huff, replied, "Of course, Master Malak. I'll take my leave." With that, he continued into the backroom, figuring he would find something to take care of back there.  
Malak, assuming they were now alone,-oh how wrong could he have been, for they had a listener-continued on with what he were previously saying. "Anyways, I was just attending to some business about Morytania. Idiotic nonsense with a parade of petty morons, but it's stuff I must attend to, nevertheless. It's done, though, so it shouldn't matter to you what exactly it was." After a small pause, Malak added, "We have other business to attend to."  
Unsure how exactly to respond, though knowing she had to agree with an obviously correct statement, Shadow responded, "That we do." feeling a trifle out of place in the way she was speaking. Lately, Shadow had been noticing her playful banter vanishing in her verbal actions. She may have still pranced about like a fledgling, but she certainly didn't speak like one as of late. It was interesting, suffice to say, but Shadow herself didn't fully understand it.  
"That's what I have arrived here for." Malak added towards Shadow. "I thank you for patiently waiting for me to arrive. I realize the inconvenience I must have presented you with and I apologize for it." Shadow didn't reply, but shook her head, as if to tell Malak she didn't mind at all. "Now, let's get on with business so we can both return to our lives. I'm sure we both have better, maybe not important, but better, things to be doing as of now. So, if I remember rightfully, Lord Drakan sent you to me to renew your blood sample, as you are now a Vyrewatch, am I right?"  
"I believe I fall into the classification of Vyrelady." Shadow corrected Malak, raising a finger for no more then a second before lowering it once more. "However, I find classifications greatly overrated. So, yes." Though outwardly, she was being very kind and polite to Malak, inwardly she was fearful of him, and what his thoughts would be on extracting her blood, and better yet, what exactly he was going to do with it once he took his sample, supposedly for records sake.  
Malak replied with a smile, "I thought so." Shadow shuddered a little, for the way Malak smiled and spoke told Shadow that he had almost been looking forward to this, despite his previous commentary suggesting otherwise. "This won't take but a minute. I've done this enough times to know exactly what it is I am doing and precisely how to do it. Just wait for be to fetch a couple things from my room, if you would." Shadow gave Malak a slight nod, showing she agreed to wait for him.  
Silently did Shadow observe as Malak crossed the room, this time trailing the wall. He did so normally this time, not showing himself or his powers off as he had the previous time. Shadow was completely unaware that Malak owned a room in this place, though now that she thought about it, it seemed rather rational. Malak spent the second to most time in this place, only bested by the owner himself, Roavar, who pretty much never left this place. The room seemed a little unlikely, though, as Shadow was also intelligent enough to know the fine degree to which Malak hated this place, despite spending nearly every moment of his life sauntering about it. Malak did not proceed upstairs, but instead slunk into a room hidden in the corner, and room which Shadow had always assumed was just storage or something. You learn something new every day; today, Shadow had learned that room was of different purpose, though maybe not quite as different as she had thought.  
To be as quaint as possible while not sugarcoating his room, Malak's room, to some degree, was pretty much a storage space. It was just a storage space with a coffin. Though Malak would never admit it, he knew that he fell into the classic coffin-sleeping stereotype. Sometimes he didn't like admitting it, but he knew it was true nonetheless. Malak's room, despite having lots of intricate and seemingly pointless objects in it, was very well organized. Malak knew exactly where everything he wanted was and actually, almost everything for this operation was already near one another anyways. Malak had done this a many of times, and thus kept supplies close at hand just in case someone failed to warn him of their arrival, or should on the odd chance, he be behind his own schedule, like today or rather tonight. With the things he needed in hand, Malak departed from his room, heading back to Lady Shadow.  
Shadow's ears flicked as she observed the items Malak noisily sat down in front of Shadow, though making certain not to disrupt her glass of blood. There was a rather thick book for one, which looked as if it were very, very old, perhaps even older then it's owner. This was no medic's office, and thus Malak didn't have things like gloves and carefully cleaned needles to perform such an action. With Malak, there wasn't even a needle. There was a small wad of some sort of towel, but Shadow doubted it's purpose. There was a very thin container, made out of a material Shadow had never seen before. The material appeared at first to be plastic, like that of a children's toy, but upon looking closer at it, Shadow could also seem some metallic properties to the metal. She considered daeylite, but found that to be suspicious for daeylite was an ore used for weapons, most notably the Vyrewatch's weaponry. She knew her spear had daeylite in it, which enhanced it's usual mithril state. Malak opened the clear container, of unknown somewhat metallic properties, pushing it aside a little. There was also a small container of unknown substance, which seemed a trifle powdery. It was unlabeled, and thought appearing familiar, Shadow couldn't quite figure out what it was for.  
"Now, this stuff may look vaguely familiar to you." Malak began as he opened the thick book, flicking through the pages with outstanding speed. "This is because I've done this to you twice before, once as a Juvenile and once as a Juvinate. However, Lord Drakan doesn't trust young Vampyres not to lash out during such an intricate moment, and thus requested that any non-Vyrewatch not be conscious for the event. Thus, you won't fully remember it. As you are a Vyrewatch now, you are trusted to go through this event as such, though I still worry a little." Shadow tilted her head to the side, but said nothing, for Malak seemed deep in his speech. "As you can see, I already have sample from you for both your younger stages. I still keep these for record purposes, but you'd be amazed how inaccurate they are now. As your blood is the same in all your forms, I only need to take blood from you in one form. I don't do needles. If I want to make an opening for blood to escape from, I simply create one myself. None of that medic nonsense for me." He said nothing else for now, though looked as if he wanted to.  
Malak gently took hold of Shadow's arm, his cold fingers gently wrapping around her as he lifted her powerful arm into the air, gazing it over for a while. Shadow was unsure as of what he was looking for, but he knew. He was attempting to figure out which part of her arm he wished to cut into. To a human, it seemed all the same, but Malak knew there was a huge difference, and Malak never understood the reason why when human removed blood to transfer to their own kind, they always cut into the bend of the elbow. There was a place on the arm where purer blood could be taken, and Malak soon located it as he turned her arm ever so slightly on it's side.  
Shadow knew to see this coming, but she still was unable to hide a yelp as Malak suddenly bit into her arm, his sharp teeth digging quickly into her pale skin, severing through it like a knife through butter. He didn't drink anything, she would've known if even a drop had landed on his tongue. He simply created an opening for the blood to escape, and drew back. Blood slowly trickled from the wound, and Shadow watched in interest as Malak picked up the thin container and the container of the awkward powdery substance. "Now, I'll be putting some of this powder on the wound. I do this as it slows the healing process. Otherwise, you would just naturally heal before I could even fill the container. I could always sever deeper, but I feel it's more honorable to a Vampyre not to do so."  
He carefully sprinkled just a little of the powder over her arm, it was a little sparkly, almost like a magic tree and stung a little bit when it landed on her bleeding arm. The substance seemed to disappear into her wound, and for a moment, she thought it had failed to do anything of us. After looking at it for a couple of seconds, though, she noted that the wound abruptly stopped healing itself.  
"Alright, if you would just allow me to guide your arm so I can waste as little of your blood as possible." Malak suddenly cut in, seemingly not to particularly care whether or not Shadow was amazed by the properties of the unnamed powder. Truly unnamed, for neither Malak nor any of the other Vampyres had ever bothered to give this wondrous substance a proper name, seeing as it was very little use to them other then extracting blood samples.  
She didn't argue with him, but simply allowed him to do whatever he desired with her arm. He tilted her arm on it's side, collecting her blood in the thin, clear container. The pain from being bitten had already faded, as it was supposed to. She observed with nearly as much interest as Malak, which was much, as the blood trickled into the strange container, slowly filling it up. As the container was small, even with the apathetic rate at which Shadow was bleeding, it didn't take long for the container to fill up. Upon filling, Malak turned her arm back to normal and closed the lid of the small container, trapping her dark colored blood within it's confines.  
"Your blood is darkening greatly in color." Malak noted, though mostly to himself. "That is a good sign." He then picked up the small wad of towel, handing it off to Shadow. "This is also coated in an unnamed substance, which acts as a counter reactant to the powder. It will speed the healing process back up when applied to a wound previously coated in my unnamed powder. I would suggest you do so, or you'll be bleeding for a while and that would be most unpleasant."  
Shadow did as she was told without any arguments, taking the towel with the substance it was supposedly coated in and pressing it up against her arm. While waiting for a response, Shadow looked back over thoughtfully at Malak, who was observing the sample with grand thought. He finally grew tired of looking at her blood, though, and carefully fitting it within the book. Shadow couldn't help but look at the book with a curious glint in her eye, and thus craned her head as to read it. She noticed that each page only fit two names, for the blood samples took up the rest of the room. Below her was Solomon Lamescus, who already had three samples lined up. On the left hand side of the page were two unfamiliar names, one starting with an S like her and Solomon and another which started with an R, which just went to show how few Vampyres had names starting with S. Both named appeared unfamiliar to her, they were Sankar and Ryota though she noted the interesting way they were both marked. Sankar had all three samples, but his name had a small X next to it. Ryota, on the other hand, only had one sample and the rest of the chat had been crossed out in vibrant red slashes. Even though she knew it was wrong to be looking at the book in the first place, Shadow couldn't help but ask, "What happened to Sankar and Ryota?"  
Malak glanced over suddenly, seeming taken a bit aback by Shadow's questioning of something she wasn't even supposed to be looking at. However, Malak did not get angry at her, but rather lowered his head a little and sighed somewhat. "A sorry case both of them were. Sankar was a very old Vampyre, he lived for quite a while. However, he caught off guard during a patrol outside Meiyerditch and some Werewolf killed him. That Werewolf is long since dead, but the deed was already done. As for Ryota, he rejected transformation at a rather strange time. He became a Juvenile, I had already taken a blood sample. He was awake, but he looked out of place. Without much warning, Ryota dove at me, trying as hard as he could to drive his teeth into my flesh and tear it apart. I then noted that Ryota had someone how rejected transformation even after a successful change. I killed him." Malak fell silent for a moment, as if he felt bad about having to kill Ryota. "I really thought the kid had a chance, but apparently he didn't." Shadow found that rather awkward as well, but then realized how strange the life of a Vampyre is and how many things could go horribly wrong. "I marked the chart as so. The small X for Sankar because he was honorable and his death was mourned, yet thick slashes for Ryota because he went feral, and no one mourned him."  
With a slam that caused Shadow to jump, Malak suddenly slammed the book shut, as if he no longer wanted to think about it. Shadow decided it would be best if she didn't ask any further questions about it, and thus fell silent. She watched as Malak gathered up his supplies, hurriedly taking them back to his room and returning to where Shadow was waiting ever so patiently."  
"You can take that thing off your arm, now." Malak added, motioning towards the wad Shadow held against her arm. "Your arm's probably been more then healed for quite a while now." Certainly enough, when Shadow removed the object from her arm, she was amazed to see it perfectly healed, almost as if it had never been sliced into in the first place.  
Not much more was said about the operation that had just occurred. In fact, Shadow and Malak pretty much bid each other an awkward farewell and went on their way. Since Shadow was finished with Malak, and that was the only reason she had come to this place, she decided it would best be time to check out of this little tavern. She knew she had left a couple things upstairs, though she couldn't for the life of her remember what, and thus decided to head upstairs and fetch them.  
Using her spear like a walking stick, Shadow headed back upstairs. Upon reaching her door, she proceeded to unlock it, only to stop in place. Something seemed off, something she had difficulty noting. "Something seems off…" she muttered to herself. However, when she was unable to figure out what it was, she simply shrugged it off and went about her business, unlocking the door with a gentle click and trotting into the messy room, which somehow seemed even messier. "It didn't look this bad this morning…" Shadow muttered to herself. Once more did she shrug, then proceeded to collect the few things she had drug along. Though she couldn't quite shake the feeling she was definitely missing something, she decided it was nothing important eventually and made about her business. She departed, once more locking the door behind her, still feeling a bit bad about the mess she left behind.  
Upon returning downstairs, she noticed it appeared to be business as usual, despite being business in the evening time. Roavar was standing at the counter once more, busily cleaning up the glasses on by one. She noted that even though the table was still cracked, he had done an outstanding job in clearing up all the broken glass, for it otherwise looked as good as new. Malak was standing across the room, leaning against the wall and gazing over his fingernails with deep thought. In the five minutes she had been upstairs, three people had come into the tavern. One was the calm looking Banshee that Shadow had just barely spotted the last time it had arrived, the other two appeared wolfish enough, one throwing glances at the Banshee thoughtfully and the other leaning against the counter, speaking calmly with Roavar.  
"Well, the thing is, we don't have any rooms available right now." Roavar was saying to the male, supposed Werewolf, speaking with Roavar. "I know we have a guest who has been here for a while, but most of them just arrived. Two of them literally have only been here since last night, thought I'm not sure about Lady Sha-" Roavar suddenly spotted Shadow watching him, and approaching too. "Oh, hello Lady Shadow. Welcome the Vampyric nobility, will you?"  
The supposed male Werewolf, who was rather small for his species, smiled at Shadow and kindly said, "Many greeting, my Vampyric lady. It's nice to see you."  
"We were simply debating rooms." Roavar added as the supposed male Werewolf stopped speaking. "You see, he had just returned from Darkmeyer and would like to get a room for a while until he can get back to a house of his own. He's been away for so very long that his house had to be sold to another Werewolf. Don't worry though, I wasn't suggesting giving up your room in any wa-"  
Quite abruptly, Shadow interrupted Roavar by saying, "Take it." and slamming the key down on the table with more force then she originally intended to use.  
Shocked by Shadow's comment, Roavar flicked his ears thoughtfully and inquired with a hint of curiosity echoing in his voice, "Pardon?"  
Pushing the key towards Roavar, and heaving a dejected sigh, for sometimes Werewolves could be so very clueless about the most obvious of things, Shadow repeated, "I said, take it." She nudged it a little closer still, drawing her hand back. "I only came here to meet with Malak. That is done, so I will be getting on my way, then. So go ahead and give my room to this dashing young man, I won't show offense. I'm sorry for asking you for a room when I ended up only keeping it one day. I also pardon myself ahead of time for anything out of place." Shadow couldn't help but chuckle sheepishly, for she knew she had left quite the mess for the newcomer to deal with.  
"Oh, well thank you very much, m'lady." Roavar responded with a grin, glad that he wouldn't have to create another tense and awkward situation between and customer and a room key once more. One chaotic event per day was Roavar's limit, and though he knew it wasn't their fault, Werewolves were prone to overreacting about such trivial things. He had done it too, gotten angry over something unimportant, and there was no denying it, but Roavar was older now, and though he still raged from time to time, he, for the most part, had his temper well in control. "And it's quite alright." Roavar added abruptly. "It's not as if you knew how long you would be waiting for Master Malak." Had it been anyone else, Roavar would've been upset, due to the earlier fiasco, but since this had been the case for Shadow, Roavar knew he couldn't be angry at her for coming and leaving so very swiftly.  
With that said, Roavar was able to happily hand the key over to the male Werewolf, who Shadow could now confirm was certainly wolfish. The male smiled, thanking Shadow for giving up her room as if she had done it entirely out of her charitable heart. Shadow knew it was complete irony that she wished to leave right at the same time a room was needed. With everything she needed to finish all said and done, Shadow was able to say her final farewell and exit out the broken door, wandering in the darkness of night, or should be said, the darkness of Morytania in general.  
Upstairs, an ever so nosy eavesdropper lifted his head. He said nothing as the voices and footsteps faded, the noise downstairs becoming nothing of interest to his malicious and deviously plotting mind. Though the one guard remained silent, as always, the other straightened up, then saying, "It appears Lady Shadow had checked out of the Hair of the Dog Tavern, my Lord Vanstrom. She had given the blood sample."  
"So I see." Vanstrom emotionlessly agreed, rising to his feet. "Thank you for that obvious commentary." the guard gulped nervously, but with no reason to do so, for Vanstrom did not seem angered at his observation. "Will we be able to proceed with the plan soon?"  
The guard was relieved to see Vanstrom reacting so well to something which he usually became overly upset about. He had always hoped that Vanstrom may calm his anger over the years, and those countless decades-or was it even centuries?-of putting up with Vanstrom fretting over every specific little detail was finally paying off. "We can proceed with the plan as soon as she leaves Canifis, my lord. Malak will confirm that she arrived her, that dog shall not speak of our checking in, and nobody will have an explanation if Shadow just up and vanished. We will not be suspected nor will our plan be faltered any longer."  
Vanstrom passed near the guard, stopping beside him. With Vanstrom so dangerously close by, the guard was careful not to make any sudden movements, for he never knew what Vanstrom would dictate as wrong and punish him quite painfully for. Luckily, Vanstrom simply placed his hand upon his guard's back, and muttered, "Good." before wandering off once more. "We leave now."  
Vanstrom couldn't help but smile, for his plan was finally coming into play. Shadow would have to travel all the way back to Darkmeyer, Vanstrom could move at twice her speed, and there was nothing to argue that Shadow simply decided not to head back to Darkmeyer. Yes, now that Vanstrom considered it, he could pin all the blame on that Lance child, tell Lord Drakan he saw Shadow running off with Lance. There would be a real treat. Vanstrom was inwardly enjoying the malicious plans swarming through his head like a swarm of Harpie Bugs when his guard interrupted. "Oh yes, I also wanted to discuss one more thing with you, my lord."  
Frustrated, for the devious plans playing out in his head had been smitten as if struck by lightning, Vanstrom angrily turned to face his guard and growl, "And what is that?"  
Though the guard didn't like the way Vanstrom spoke to him, for it sounded as if somehow, he had been royally ticked off, the guard was also aware that if he didn't say something soon, that Vanstrom would only became more peeved, for not only had he been interrupted, but he had been interrupted without purpose. "I couldn't help but notice that a representative for that group you were talking about was downstairs, I believe you mentioned the group having a Banshee. You wanted to speak with their leader about Shadow, did you not?"  
Now interested, Vanstrom glanced up hopefully at his guard. "You speak of the Skryté Deti, correct?" The guard wordlessly nodded. " Hmm… Banshee you say? Yes… I did hear the group had a member fitting that description." He paused for a moment, contemplating what to do about his plan. "I did, but we must keep trailing Shadow… unless…" His gaze shot towards his other guard, silent as can be. "You there! Yes, just because you don't talk doesn't mean you don't exist. You will speak with the Banshee, and if she truly is a representative for the Skryté Deti, I want you to speak with her about getting a meeting with her leader for me." Failing to speak, despite the fact that he was quite capable of doing so, the small guard nodded upon his leader, showing that he understood what had been asked of him. "Now come, we must check out of this filthy tavern."  
The three eerie men proceeded downstairs, where Roavar was working hard and Malak was skulking in a corner, oblivious to anything going on. He threw Vanstrom and his guards a glance, but Vanstrom was fairly certain it hadn't even processed in his mind who had just passed by him. Roavar took notice of the three men approaching him, and though he couldn't hide a hopeless shudder, he still attempted to act polite as they approached by asking, "Can I help you men with anything?"  
"Yes…" Vanstrom muttered, throwing his hand on the counter. He drew back, and when he did, a key was sitting on the table in front of him. "We'll be leaving your filthy tavern now. I thought you may just want your key back."  
Roavar twitched ever so slightly, anger welling up in the back of his mind. "You're leaving already." Vanstrom nodded, not speaking a single word. "You've got to be kidding me! You come barging in here, steal a key from a paying customer, who I had to deal with the fury of, thank you very much, and all to only stay one day!? If you're going to steal my customers' keys how's about actually staying at the tavern for more then a day!? Thanks to you, I lost that Werewolf and also thanks to you, she tore apart my tavern! The table's broken, the door's broken, and seven glasses were shattered! How's about I charge you for all the damages since you never paid for the room in the first place!"  
Vanstrom admitted, he wasn't expecting such fury from the Werewolf, for he figured Roavar would've been intelligent enough not to invoke his wrath. "Down, dog." Vanstrom snarled, a warning for the Werewolf to calm down before things got ugly.  
"Do-down wh-what…?" Roavar growled, his fury causing his voice to crack. "Why you…!" Roavar was unable to contain his anger anymore, now at his breaking point for how much he was going to tolerate from Vanstrom. "Why don't you stay down, you filthy bloodsucking leech!" Vanstrom watched in amusement as Roavar crouched over suddenly, cringing in pain. Brown fur sprouted from all over his body, covering his usually dull skin. His ears shot up, becoming tall and alert as a wolf's; his nose elongated into a snout, which bore a long row of sharp teeth; and from his rear end grew a long fluffy tail, which was already spiked with anger and fury. Roavar released a vibrant roar as his transformation into wolf form completed, a sound which echoed throughout the ears of everyone in the tavern. "I don't have to put up with your garbage!" He leaped towards Vanstrom, slashing and snarling and biting, ready to strike down Vanstrom in any way possible. However, Vanstrom only dodged his attacks, moving with a carelessly swift speed which caused Roavar to miss every single time. Roavar smashed into several tables, knocked over more things then he could count, and even put a few fine dents in the hole and floor. He had easily done more damage then the female Werewolf had and unlike her, who had succeeded in her missing to startle Roavar, Roavar had not only failed to strike Vanstrom, but Vanstrom wasn't even frightened of the furious Werewolf, who now found he was out of breath. Currently oblivious to the damage he had done, for he was too tired and angry to care, Roavar growled, hunched over, "Get out… of my… tavern…"  
Vanstrom kneeled slightly in front of Roavar, sneering in the wolf's face as he answered, "Gladly." He stood back up, preparing to leave before glancing over his shoulder and adding with a smirk, "Oh, and good luck cleaning up your own mess. Idiot." He then left, his guard following behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Shadow of the One ****  
****The expected occurs**

Shadow made her way out of Canifis, somehow inwardly happy to be leaving. She wasn't sure what quite unnerved her about Canifis, but whatever it was, she was glad to be escaping it finally. The rain had greatly let up since Malak had arrived, now remaining as nothing more then a light drizzle. Usually, rain was something Shadow found little pleasure in, unless it watching someone she didn't like getting drenched, but she never minded a light drizzle. What wasn't there to love about the gentle falling of soft drops of water splashing down like the playful bats of a kitten's paw? Shadow's nose rose ever so slightly into the sky, as she allowed the rain to dance around her. Her eyes closed, a sensation of joy and pleasure washing through her as the rain wetted her.  
The main area of town was rather empty, which came as a surprise to Shadow. Werewolves had never been the type to care about weather. Rain, snow, fog, sun… they would be outside regardless, for Werewolves just generally enjoyed the appeal nature held for their kind. However, this time was an exception, and it was like something had passed through town, something absolutely horrible, which deterred the Werewolves from coming outside their houses.  
There was no possible way the rain startled the wolves. Something worse must have passed through, something far worse. Shadow shuddered as such a thought entered her head. What could be so horrifying that it scared even a Werewolf? Werewolves were not easily frightened creatures… and if something truly had scared them, Shadow was afraid to meet whatever it was.  
Shadow departed from Canifis via the northern exit, where Mazchna usually wandered. In fact, as she crossed through that area, she highly considered saying hello to Mazchna, for the two had not spoken in a while and she sometimes worried that he thought they weren't… friends wasn't quite the right term, but it was the only one she could come up with to describe the valiant demon. She quickly spotted him, for his red skin was very vibrant and very evident in such a land. What confused Shadow, though, was that he was not wandering about. Usually, Mazchna liked to wander, claiming he always preferred keeping on his toes and on the move. Not today, though. Mazchna was sitting on the ground, a misshapen red lump that appeared out of place. As she neared him, she noticed the vexed expression on his face, as if he were contemplating something very intricate, something that were so complicated and bizarre, perhaps, that he had not even come close to figuring it out.  
Though momentarily deterred from approaching him, as he did not appear to be in a pleasant mood, Shadow eventually decided to speak with him anyways, for he had spoken to her many times when her mood was unpleasant. Why should the opposite not apply? Standing in front of him, something he somehow failed to notice, Shadow greeted, "Hello Mazchna!" She quickly regretted so.  
Mazchna's claws wrapped roughly around his blade, which he had previously not been gripping. The way he held it, his frustration showed, and though his head did not falter from the downwards glance it was currently in, his eyes did trail up to Shadow's figure as he hatefully hissed in response, "What do you want?"  
"Is something the matter?" Shadow inquired upon her former slayer master, noting the fury vibrating in his tone of voice. She had never seen him react in such a manner. Usually, Mazchna was fairly emotionless, perhaps a trifle on the audacious side, but never one to show a deep degree of spite towards others. Mazchna wasn't like others of his kind, demons, so to say, he wasn't some giant Zamorak worshipping monster of which wished to smite every mortal that crossed his path. He was a very honorable man, and if it weren't for the red skin, cloven hooves, and spiked tail, you wouldn't have even known that Mazchna was a demon upon meeting him, even upon knowing him for a while. Far as he acted and reacted, Mazchna was no different then any other man out there.  
Mazchna now turned his head aside, completely rejecting Shadow as she attempted to speak with him. Upon looking away from Shadow, Mazchna grumpily muttered in response, "Nothing of your concern." He then refused to speak any further, despite Shadow's many efforts.  
It didn't take Shadow long to take the hint. Something, something she would not be currently told of, was highly bothering Mazchna, and it was something he simply did not wish to debate with her as of this moment. There was simply no way she was going to get him to converse with her, and after a short while of trying to do so, she eventually just abandoned the effort and after mumbling, "Maybe next time, then…" continued past the thoughtful demon, leaving him to worry about whatever it was that was trifling him so horribly.  
Not too far away stood a very tall man, who was indeed Werewolf, but not one of the locals of Canifis. He stood taller then even your tallest Werewolf, definitely not one to be easily overlooked. He had bushy brown hair, with bangs that served to cover half of his left eye. He would attempt to push them aside, but to little avail, as they would eventually just go back. His clothes were nothing unique, just a dull brown shirt with navy blue pants, but he kept a long black overcoat on, which he would always pull over his clothes when he got the chance. He took a step forward, his huge black boots sinking slightly into the moist dirt below. He said nothing, but simply observed as Lady Shadow proceeded out of town after failing to get a word out of Mazchna. He knew, though. He knew what was bothering Mazchna, was had the town hidden within the confines of their house. He wasn't afraid, but certainly cautious.  
He observed with dark green eyes as two figure came out of the Hair of the Dog Tavern a short ways away, something his wolfish eyes were able to pick up on instantly. He recognized the shapes immediately, the people which they were. One was Vanstrom, the egoistic fourth in command of the Vampyric noble family. The Werewolf assumed the other man was a bodyguard, perhaps, as he had seen them together before, though he was highly certain there had been a second one the first time. Nevertheless, there was no argument that the people racing past him were of high importance.  
It would've been so easy for him to attack Vanstrom, or maybe his guard. The two were so oblivious to the Werewolf's presence, despite how large he was, that it would've been a breeze to leap upon them. He was always alert, alert so that he already knew someone else had walked up beside him despite never looking over in that direction.  
However, Vanstrom wasn't particularly the one he cared about. Not at all… He wished to go up higher, to pursue a Vampyre of much higher status. Who he wanted, was Lord Drakan himself. However, getting to Lord Drakan was not easy, despite the past the two shared, for it was only minor and not a positive moment in either of their lives. This Werewolf, he wanted Morytania to be a place where those living in it didn't constantly feel afraid of those around them, where that which ruled was able to do so without always resorting to death and blood. This was something he commonly spoke of, getting rid of Lord Drakan, but was an action that he knew he would be able to say thousands of times, but found great difficulty in actually doing. What he needed… a way to get to Lord Drakan… was simply not there. Varrock was in constant danger, as was Edgeville, and being born in one of those cities, thought raised instead in the Wilderness, he didn't wish to see the residents mauled by Vampyres, should they ever figure out how to get their entire army across the river. If he could even convince Lord Drakan to change targets, that would be a good start to a better ruled empire. All of that was well said… but difficult to do.  
Vanstrom finally left the Werewolf's line of sight. A moment to strike come and gone, but no matter, he didn't desire to strike anyways. He always tried to remain s covert as physically possible, choosing to hide within the old Myreque base, or sometimes travel with his companion to their Wilderness pack, which they weren't born into, but still held mass power and faith in. "Ravana." He muttered faintly to the women standing beside him.  
Beside the tall Werewolf stood a female of rather small height. She had long black hair, which seemed to flow gracefully in the wind created by the rain. This one was dressed in full black, which went with her hair. Literally, she had a black shirt, black pants, even black shoes. The only things about her that weren't black, besides her skin color, were her shimmering hazel eyes and golden earrings, something that was a little new to her pack. Other then that, she was the complete image of black, able to blend in with the darkest reaches of Morytania with little difficulty. "Ah, hello Anthony. What are you looking at?"  
Indeed, Anthony and Ravana went back quite a ways. They both came from outside packs, packs whose locations were completely undefined. However, they were both raised within the confines of a pack of Werewolves living within the Wilderness, a rather nasty pack, but they certainly knew what they were doing. Sometimes, they often debated which location was worse for a Werewolf to live in, and every time a different result came up. They were nothing more then friends, but certainly friends who greatly trusted one another and worked side by side at times. Though their motives were different, sometimes their paths would cross, and they would take advantage of that.  
"Nothing of interest." Anthony passively replied, throwing a glance in her general direction. "Vanstrom and his guards were in town, but they just left."  
Ravana's inward fur rustled at the sheer sound of his name. That conniving little jerk had crossed her, and though she badly desired revenge, she knew to keep to herself until she had obtained the right items, for she was no match for him otherwise. "Ugh… Vanstrom." Ravana huffed hatefully, shaking herself out a little. "I know that much. He was the idiot that stole my room key last night in the Hair of the Dog Tavern. I still can't believe he had the guts to do that." She calmed a little, turning to face her tall Werewolf companion. "Thanks for letting me sleep down in your cave, by the way."  
"It was nothing." Anthony answered, still seeming to care very little about the conversation they were holding. "So, what were you doing around Canifis anyways? I thought you were playing unwanted guardian for one of the Vampyres."  
Ravana turned away for a second, disappointed in herself as she responded, "I was." Her head lowered as she sadly added, "That was until I lost track of her after last night's incident with Vanstrom." She didn't like admitting it, but she had actually lost track of the person she was guarding, though unbeknownst to them, when that incident occurred. It was displeasing for her to openly admit to Anthony, who always seemed so perfect, that she had failed in something so simple, yet, she had. "What's it to you?"  
Dar'ran felt as if Ravana were attempting to start a fight with him, she usually did. He had met many a furious Werewolves before, but none with the sheer temper of Ravana. That girl could get angry at just about anything, and when she did, she certainly knew how to lash out with grand fury. Ravana could tear apart a mansion within minutes and not give two cents that she just did so. Though her power was a strength, and she held great potential as a powerful Werewolf warrior, it would also be her downfall if she were not careful. Anthony had seen many great Werewolves fail, succumbing to their anger and fury and becoming it's victim as well. He did not wish to see that happen to young Ravana. She had such hope, such passion, and such qualifications. She was perfect… if she could cool herself. "I don't wish to fight with you." He openly stated, making sure she was aware of her anger.  
"I never wanted to…!" Ravana began, gasping abruptly and cutting off her sentence right in the middle of it. She then realized that once more, she had let her anger get the best of her, and nearly assaulted innocent Dar'ran because of it. "I-I'm sorry…"  
Luckily for Ravana, though, who truly felt bad whenever she let her anger get the best of her around her friends. Dar'ran was one of the most understanding Werewolves out there, most in control of his anger, and able to forgive just about anyone for just about any error or misdemeanor. "It's fine, Ravana. Don't trifle yourself or something so silly. I was simply making a statement."  
However, Ravana truly felt bad for acting like such a wild animal around someone who trusted her so much. She had seldom few friends, and lost many of them due to her hateful attitude and feral antics. "I truly am sorry, Anthony. I was acting like a pup and… I shouldn't have, I just shouldn't have. I'm a full grown Werewolf and yet I can't keep my anger in tact."  
Anthony placed a single hand on Ravana's shoulder, causing her to pause mid-rant and glance up thoughtfully upon him, noticing the calm expression in his dark green eyes, which often glowed with hate and fury just as hers did. "Ravana, Ravana, dear Ravana…" Anthony purred, trying to relax the soul of a wild animal which he knew was hidden within her confines. "I told you it's alright. You're a Werewolf, after all. It's to be expected that you get angry every once in a while. Even I get angry at things now and then. We all have those moments when we just want to tear someone limb from limb. You just must take the first step to controlling those urges. Do not allow them to overtake you… and never worry, for I will never hate you for your anger." He smiled in a caring manner. "It's what you are." The two glanced in different directions, silence haunting their conversation. "C'mon. I'm going back to the old Myreque hideout. Why don't you come with me?"  
Ravana glanced back up at Anthony, despite the fact that he was no longer looking at her. She liked to know that no matter what happened, he would always be there for her, always care about and support her, always be a good friend. "I think I'll come along, then."  
Upon hearing that she had agreed to come along with him, Anthony turned his attention back to little Ravana in front of him. He smiled faintly upon her, sort of happy that she had decided to accompany him back to his temporary living quarters for a while. Sometimes it got a little lonely, and even if Anthony did generally ignore visitors or only focus on them to ask their opinion about his plans and such, he still enjoyed company nonetheless, and he would be honored to have someone like Ravana as company, for they had been friends for more years then either of them could count, always being there for one another in their Wilderness pack they once lived in. Sometimes, Anthony wondered if after this was all said and done, if they would go back to their pack, see Werewolves they hadn't spoken to or of for ages. For now, that was not the case, and the two of them instead headed off side by side towards the secret entrance to what used to be the Myreque hideout, down where Anthony lived.  
As that event occurred, Shadow was crossing through the mud in the Haunted Woods, finding it to be even more irksome then the Mort Myre Swamp had been on the way there. Never did she hear Vanstrom and his guard skulking nearby, watching her every move, observing her actions and deciding when would be best to leap upon their unsuspecting victim. Too busy was Shadow disliking the muddy lands of the forest, where the leeches of unspeakably large sizes wallowed, enjoying what the rain had formed for them, whereas Shadow disliked the mud.  
Her foot sank many times into the muck, and she swore she could feel mud seeping into her shoe. She often fought to get her foot out of the mud, and she noted the way the local feral Vampyres watched her with great interest, perhaps hiding a snicker or chuckle behind those ungodly sounds they made to one another. Shadow howled loudly as she felt small, needle-like teeth sink into her ankle, digging right through her shoe and skin alike. She thrashed her leg violently, screaming various swears at the chubby green leech that came flying off her foot as she flailed it wildly.  
The leech landed with an interesting squish about ten feet away from Shadow. It reared upwards, releasing a strange guttural sound that she was pretty certain was supposed to sound threatening, in some way. However, when the leech realized it was not scaring it's victim, it instead skulked back into the forest of dead trees from which it came, swiftly diving back into another mud puddle.  
Nearby, Vanstrom couldn't help but find minor amusement in the trouble the leeches and mud were causing for Shadow. Anything to anger her, even if he wasn't involved directly, or even indirectly. He still enjoyed seeing her suffer. Inwardly, he thought to himself about suffering. Vanstrom could feel a slight burning in his throat. Sometimes other Vampyres warned him about the dangers of overfeeding, but never had he listed, and now he paid the price. Vanstrom needed to feed more then your average Vampyre, for he was living off a lust for blood. Vanstrom found that blood was like alcohol, in certain ways, that once you started drinking it, you wanted more, and if you decided to give yourself more, you found that you could never abandon that parasitical desire to drink more. Vanstrom suffered that with blood, always finding that burning feeling returning to his throat, always desiring the blood of others. This was why he overfed sometimes, to keep himself going longer in the future, for nothing was worse then thirst ruining your plans, as it was doing for him right now. "Do you sense anything alive around here?" Vanstrom abruptly asked his guard, clearly too lazy to check himself.  
"Well, there are feral Vampyres, leeches, obviously there's Lady Shadow…" the guard began, only to be cut off once more in his sentence.  
"Not like that." Vanstrom corrected, lowering his head a little as if that made him harder to hear. "I meant like something I can take blood from."  
The guard heaved a dejected sigh, realizing that the person which he guarded was thirsty once more. "Again, my lord?" the guard asked, failing to hide the sarcasm seeping out from under his tongue. "No offense, but you just fed. Can't you go a couple days without…" His voice faded, for Vanstrom was glaring directly at him with those hateful red eyes of his. "Of course, my lord. I can sense a human just northwest of here. Shall you feed on him?"  
Vanstrom nodded, glad to hear there was a nearby source of blood. Sometimes, though Vanstrom, his guards could be so nitpicky, for they didn't realize the urges and lusts for blood he had to so often desire, that craving to sink your pointed teeth deep into one's neck, to drain them of that lovely liquid. Vanstrom shuddered, an inward feeling of felicity escaping from him at the sheer thought of it.  
He found himself rushing past his guard, making haste to find the human before Shadow arrived at the same location, despite the rather slow pace she moved at. Vanstrom didn't understand why Shadow didn't just fly over the Haunted Woods, or run through it, at the very least. She walked at a human's speed, which meant it would take her a while to get through. That had it's perks for Vanstrom's plan, though, and he wasn't going to argue about her idiotic ways. This just further served to prove his point that Shadow was unqualified to be a Vampyre, the strange ways she acted against average Vampyre life. Vanstrom eventually stopped, a strangely pleasurable musical sound nearby.  
From a nearby tree Vanstrom observed his target. There was nothing extremely unique about this man. He simply sat on a single, simple stone, playing the lute with a pleasurable look in his eyes. Vanstrom couldn't begin to understand why this man would decide to start playing a loud instrument in the middle of Morytania, very near a forest of dangerous feral Vampyres which would reap joy from tearing him apart should they hear it, as he doubted it would sound pleasurable to them as it did to him. Vanstrom threw a glance over as his guard arrived, perching next to him in the same tree. He said nothing, simply watched the man with little interest. Vanstrom considered asking why a human had chosen such a strange spot to play an instrument, but soon realized that asking this would suggest he cared, which he definitely didn't. It mattered not to Vanstrom what possessed this idiotic human to locate himself in such a dangerous location for the sheer purpose of playing music, only that he served as a source of food for his dry tongue, which yearned to meet his delicious smelling blood.  
Vanstrom decided there was no time to waste in achieving his meal. His a furious screech did he leap down from the branches of the dead tree, which hardly made a good hiding place to begin with. The man quickly looked in the direction of the screech, dropping his lute in astonishment as he saw the creature leaping towards him, fangs bared. The man swiftly turned on his heel, ready to make a break for it, but before he could even take one step, Vanstrom's clawed hands pushed down on his back, knocking him to the ground with a thud. The man tried to scream in terror, but Vanstrom quickly pushed his face into the dirt, which completely muffled his screams. If he screamed, he knew Shadow would hear it and come looking out of curiosity. He didn't particularly care if Shadow saw this man had been fed from, nor would he usually have cared about being seen feeding in general, for he was a Vampyre and all Vampyres did it. However, he was trying to remain covert, to be hidden from Shadow's view, and her coming to see where a scream came from and seeing Vanstrom feeding wasn't going to improve his stealth mission any.  
Still no time was wasted in the attack, for Vanstrom desired to feed and flee as quickly as he possibly could. He kept one hand on the man's head, making certain it was pressed deeply into the dirt below as to continue to muffle his shrieks. Once the man was held down, placing his other hand on the ground to balance himself, Vanstrom dove inward rapidly, sinking his sharp teeth into the man's tender neck. The skin tore with ease, as if it were just paper, and it was only a matter of seconds before Vanstrom could feel the man's blood trickling down his throat, coating it in a fine layer and stealing away that awful dry feeling. Pleasure rushed down Vanstrom's spine and he could feel himself tingling with the happiness, the joy, the merriment of this meal he honored himself with. Every time Vanstrom considered drawing back, he couldn't, for the taste of fresh blood was too much for him, and he refused to abandon such a luscious find with such haste. He drank, and drank, filling in the fine edges of his desire.  
The guard, who had decided to climb down from the tree rather then jump in, now walking nonchalantly up to Vanstrom, standing next to him as he fed. He bent down ever so slightly, trying, and failing by just a little, to reach Vanstrom's general level. "Lord Vanstrom, sir." the guard began, trying his best to get Vanstrom's attention. "Lady Shadow will be arriving in this location soon. I suggest we move on before she notices us."  
Vanstrom paused upon hearing that, the pleasure of drinking blood quickly fading as he ceased doing so. Before releasing his grip, he jerked his head to the side, his fangs creating an awkward sideways tear in the man's neck. Vanstrom could feel the man's struggling cease almost instantly, the man falling limp in Vanstrom's grasp. It was an ancient Vampyric technique to knock out prey, but Vanstrom liked to feel them struggle as he drank from them; he liked to know how hopeless they felt in his grasp, and the pain they were suffering through as well, unable to do anything, but trying so valiantly. He rose, abandoning his meal, for his thirst was already slated. "Oh, fine." Vanstrom huffed, adding in a mutter under his breath, "We're going to be attacking soon, anyways.  
Nevertheless, Vanstrom followed his guard away from where he had struck the man, heading into a nearby clearing that Shadow would almost indefinitely have to pass through in order to return to Darkmeyer. That was where Vanstrom planned to attack, but he wished for her to walk into the ambush, for it was much more enjoyable that way.  
Just in time had Vanstrom and his guard left too, for right as they left the clearing where the man lay motionless, Shadow entered it, still muttering various curses under her breath about the leeches and the mud. She was attempting to shake the mud from her clothing, even going as far as to remove a boot and shake the mud out, which fell out in grand clumps.  
As Shadow was putting her shoe back on, she caught sight of the man knocked out from the corner of her eye. She froze, literally right in the middle of putting her shoe back on, to debate inwardly what all that was about. It didn't take her long to decide that she wished to investigate, and thus she hurriedly put her shoe back on, nearly hopping across the clearing the man on the other side. She reached the man at about the same time her shoe was fully back on. She hardly even realized there was still mud in her other shoe as well, and did nothing about it at the time, for she was much too busy staring downwards at the man, wondering what exactly had happened here and furthermore, if the man were alive and knocked out or if he had departed into the afterlife at this location, thereby being dead.  
She bent over slightly, placing her cold hand upon the man's chest. She could feel a heartbeat, even if it were a weak one. For a moment, she wondered what had happened, but it didn't take her trained eyes very long to spot the bite marks on the man's neck. Something had attacked him, attempted to drain the blood from his very body, and done so pretty well too. Whatever attacked him wasn't intent on killing him, for if that were the case, he would be dead, not knocked out. Shadow had to wonder, then, who had just recently been here feeding on this man? It was very recently too, Shadow could tell.  
It soon became clear to her that not only was there nothing she could do for this man, but there was nothing she wanted to do. Shadow knew that she had checked for life not because she wished to help him if he were still alive, but simply because she was curious to see whether or not he was alive, but only because she had the curiosity of a kitten, not because she cared. It more so made her interested which Vampyre would bother coming all the way out here to feed when there were plenty of humans wandering Meiyerditch, not to mention the blood stashed away in Darkmeyer that Lord Drakan had become much more easygoing about sharing as of late.  
Deciding it didn't matter, Shadow departed from this area, crossing swiftly into a nearby clearing, which she knew just past it was Darkmeyer. She couldn't quite see it from here, but she knew how close by it was. However, never did she know that she could not make it to Darkmeyer. Nearby in the trees, Vanstrom smirked with delight, watching as Shadow crossed the clearing directly to where he lay in wait. He was so certain of her actions, in fact, that he had carved an X in the ground where he planned to ambush her at when she walked on it.  
Certainly enough, Shadow walked right on top the X, taking notice of it quite quickly. "What kind of idiot draws a random X in the middle of nowhere?" she asked loudly, assuming she would fail to get an answer and would go about her business, never quite knowing why that letter had been marked within the dirt of such a remote location. Suffice to say, Shadow was shocked when she got an answer to this question instead, coming seemingly from nowhere.  
"That would be the kind of idiot who was waiting for someone of your intelligence to step on to it." Vanstrom answered from his hiding place, failing to present himself physically just yet. "And you stepped right on it." He beamed inwardly.  
Shadow glanced up almost instantly, feeling startled by the voice. She was so startled, in fact, that she somehow failed to identify it's owner, despite how she should have easily known who it was that was watching her with such interest. "What in the…! Who are you? Where are you? What do you think you are doing?"  
Vanstrom huffed dejectedly, "Are you truly that stupid? Does my voice not give it away?" He couldn't help but spit out the sarcasm, for revenge on all those times she had done it to him. "You think after all these years you would know my voice by now, my motive… as if you weren't expecting me to try something… I saw the way you watched me in Castle Drakan, you were scared of me, and you knew, deep inside of you, that I was planning something. Well, you were right. You were so very right."  
"Wait… you…?" After muttering like a completely clueless idiot for a couple of moments, it suddenly occurred to Shadow exactly who she was speaking with, and, fear trembling behind her previously bold voice, she uttered, "V-Vanstrom?"  
Shadow took a grand step back as Vanstrom leaped from the trees, landing in front of her. "Very good. Maybe you're not as stupid as I previously dubbed you. Don't let that change anything though. I still hate you, I still think you're worthless, and I still think you're better off dead, but at least I've raised your intelligence above rock." Shadow continued to back away from Vanstrom, backing further and further away until she backed into another something, or rather, someone. She quickly realized Vanstrom's guard standing behind her, and knew that this was a planned ambush, plotted right out to the X. "Oh how I'm amazed you never noticed me following you, me and my guards, one of which is attaining to other business right now. I was skulking in the shadows of Castle Drakan, following you through the muck of Mort Myre, I was even lodged in the Hair of the Dog Tavern. That female Werewolf that was throwing a fit over a stolen key… I was the one who stole the key from her. Roavar wouldn't tell you who it was because I threatened to wring his neck if he did. By the way, he wasn't very pleased that I followed you. He tore apart his own tavern when I tried to leave. I was what scared Canifis, I was what put Mazchna in such a foul mood, and I was the thing that fed upon that man you saw back there. I've been everywhere you have, and you've been completely oblivious to it, just as stupid as you are."  
Shadow's wings spread out slightly, almost as if she were contemplating taking to the sky and flying away from Vanstrom and his guard. She know that was not possible, though, for her flying was less then satisfactory. She would be in the air for more then a few seconds before she can crashing down to he ground in a bundle of leathery wings, scrambling to maintain herself. "Don't you have a hobby, Vanstrom" Shadow inquired hatefully, spitting at the ground near which he was standing.  
Vanstrom spread out his arms, taking a couple of steps closer to Shadow, who was unable to step back as his guard was standing perfectly in the way. "Oh, but I do have a hobby, my dear." Vanstrom began, smirking in her general direction as he worked up to his finishing statement. "It's making your life a living hell, and what a fun hobby it is, too."  
It was becoming clear to Shadow that Vanstrom was just talking his way up to a fight. She could see that malicious smirk on his face, the way he gazed upon her gleefully. He couldn't wait for the moment when he could strike, when the conversation was over and he could use his superior battle skills to take her down, as he always did. Then it occurred to Shadow, she was a new Vampyre. She was no longer a mere Juvinate, scuttling about on the lower tiers of Vampyre society. She was a fully evolved Vyrewatch, and one of almost as much importance as Vanstrom was. She had direct bloodline relations to Lord Drakan, something Vanstrom did not have working for him. It was highly likely that as a fully evolved Vyrewatch, Shadow had some outstanding powers hidden within her, powers that she simply needed to locate, evoke, and be ready to use at will. Would she be a better match for him now?  
Shadow attempted to clench her fists, only to find her fingernails sharper then usual, possibly better described as a claw. Was this the first of many things she would have access to as a fully evolved Vampyre? Shadow knew she didn't want to listen to Vanstrom mutter, for she knew already what would happen. Vanstrom would babble about how he's much more qualified then her, how pathetic of a Vampyre she is, rant about wanting her gone, then tell her that he was going to take her down and would not fail this time, which he usually did. His plans had often gotten close to success, but had never actually made it far enough to reach the point of complete success.  
Feeling no desire to listen to Vanstrom talk, Shadow leapt to her feet. She spun rapidly on the tips of her toes, whacking the guard back with outstanding force. Moving with a speed she had never raced at before, she rushed for Vanstrom. It took Vanstrom a second to contemplate that Shadow was attacking, for he had never once in his life seen her start a fight with him before. Usually, he always had to start the fight, and even then, she hardly ever fought back. For once in her life, Shadow was not only fighting back, but she was the one starting the fight. This was amusing to Vanstrom. Unfortunately, he didn't quite react quickly enough, and Shadow's elongated claws razed his cheek as he stepped aside, blood trickling out at a slow rate across his face. Vanstrom could taste his own blood, for as it trickled down his cheek, it met with his lips, pushed through the opening, and landing on his tongue. Vanstrom had no desire to know what his blood tasted like, and he refused to label the taste either, for the fear that he may actually enjoy the taste of his own blood.  
"You finally defend yourself." Vanstrom smirked as Shadow landed cleanly behind him, the two facing the opposite direction of one another. He glanced over his shoulder at the same moment she did, their eyes meeting. "I like that. It will be far more satisfactory to take you down when you're actually attempting to best me."  
Anger welled up within Shadow, and she quickly raced for him once more, using his wings to create a gust of air, pushing herself off with it. She reached him, drawing back her hand for a strike, but Vanstrom reacted faster. Vanstrom could not see into her mind any longer, for Vyrewatch of any level could block out one another's mind reading powers, but it didn't matter, she was still horribly predictable. He grabbed hold of her wrist with his left hand as she struck for him, stopping her attack dead in it's tracks. She attempted to react, to slash with her left hand, but it was unable to happen before Vanstrom slashed violently with his right hand, sharp claws raking across her face. He quickly let go of her, releasing another slash across her face with his left hand. He slashed with the right hand once more, then the left hand once more, creating a bloody X-like pattern on her face.  
Shadow howled in pain, for Vanstrom's long claws were embedded with poison, which seared her blood from within her body, causing her skin to prickle with the agony. Before she could react, still coming to with the pain of his poisoned claws, Vanstrom suddenly wrapped his long fingers around her shoulders, bringing shock to her mind. She was unable to defend herself as he lifted her body with ease, throwing her behind him, smashing her into the ground.  
He quickly turned around, ready to deliver a crushing blow to her skull, but Shadow was able to defend, despite the stiff pain in her bones from being smashed ruthlessly into the earth. She wrapped her wings around her, creating a thick barrier of leather and bone for the bottom of Vanstrom's shoe to meet with. His foot smashed into her wing, but nothing occurred from it. There was no crack, and Shadow felt no pain. Her wings were the perfect barrier, able to block out even the most violent of attacks as if they never even happened. Vanstrom snarled in anger, frustrated with how quickly she had caught on to use her powerful new wings as a defense system.  
Shadow swiftly opened her wings, creating a gust of wind which blew Vanstrom off his feet. He landed awkwardly on the ground below, fumbling to rise once more. However, he was crushed under the weight of Shadow, as she leapt valiantly from the spot she was standing directly on Vanstrom, pushing into his shoulders. She hovered over him like a predator, ready to strike and kill. She drew back a single hand; she the brought it down upon Vanstrom's face, slicing with quick, but powerful strikes, yelling all the while, "How does this feel!?" Each word she spoke was another slice across his face, creating an northerly bloody mess upon his face, which she felt was fitting, as he had done so to hers.  
"Why don't you learn your place, you little monster?" Vanstrom hissed vilely at her, grabbing her right hand in his upon her next strike. She wasted no time in striking with her left, only for him to react in the same way he had with her right hand. The two of them hand in hand, though not in a merry way, Vanstrom and Shadow were competing for superior strength, something Vanstrom knew he was able to win. He pushed against her with grand, brute force, forcing her to back up. Without her hovering over him, Vanstrom was able to rise to his feet, pushing back towards her instead. Shadow was crouched down on her knees, barely able to keep Vanstrom at bay. "Even at full power, you'll never be able to defeat me! My strength will always be greater then yours." Soon realizing he was winning the contest of strength, Vanstrom took this chance to push her arm down, a sickening crack echoing across the field as her bone snapped; her face burrowed into the dirt, though not voluntarily.  
Shadow delivered a firm kick to Vanstrom in his gut, which was able to get him to back away as she performed an interesting flip, landing cleanly on her feet, the arm he snapped held out so pressure would not meet with it's broken, but already healing, bone. A broken bone was nothing to a fully evolved Vampyre, for they could heal anything. You could tear the limbs straight from their body and a Vampyre would simply keep fighting, aware that their limbs would simply grow back later, save for their wings, which were near impossible to tear anyways. Shadow's wings spread wide, almost as if she were planning on using them, which she knew she wouldn't.  
The same thought hit Vanstrom at the same moment it hit Shadow. Vanstrom held something over Shadow that she couldn't even begin to compete with. He had been observing her long enough to realize that Shadow had absolutely no clue how to fly. She could get into the sky, but it was not a beautiful sight, and Vanstrom realized he would be able to use that against her. If he could get her to fly… he could get her to crash too.  
Vanstrom spread his wings wide, though they were rather small in the sub-Vampyric state which he currently battled in. Small, but still able to get him into the sky. Vanstrom never understood what happened to his wings in his sub-Vampyric state. They were small, horribly so, as if someone had compacted them down for size. Nonetheless, he still flew just as well as any other Vampyre, if not better. Vanstrom wasted no time in flapping his wings rapidly. He could feel his feet rising off the ground, and he soon felt that light-footed feeling that one got when first entering the sky. He made haste in gaining height, trying to reach a location where Shadow could not without also taking to the sky. He knew she could jump high, but he could fly higher, he was certain of it. "If you're such an outstanding Vampyre, then why don't you come up here and prove it to me?"  
Of course, Shadow reacted exactly how Vanstrom initially knew she would. She crouched down, preparing herself for the inevitably leap that followed. She made outstanding height, and Vanstrom had to admit he was a trifle shocked by how high she had leapt. However, Vanstrom was able to use this against her. He lifted his feet, her jump not high enough to reach him. He had found her limit, and he could now use it against her.  
"Is that it?" Vanstrom asked, rising ever so slightly higher into the sky, his wings moving with slow, graceful strokes to keep him elevated. "If you want to fight me, you'll have to come up here and do so, now won't you?"  
"I'll do nothing of the sort." Shadow huffed, crossing her arms and glancing away. This was going to be difficult, realized Vanstrom. She was planning on waiting, waiting until he grew tired of flying in the sky and came down to perform an attack. That would have been a fine plan too, had it been not to the long range attacks that Vanstrom kept hidden under his sleeve.  
Vanstrom grinned maliciously, though he knew she had not seen it, for she was not even looking entirely at him, only gazing from the corner of her eye. "That's a same, because I can fight you from up here." At first, Shadow turned back swiftly, gazing up upon Vanstrom's figure quite questionably, appear uncertain that such a thing was possible. "Want to know the best part? You are my weapon! You will be your own downfall!" Vanstrom lifted a hand into the sky. Suddenly, Shadow felt weak, unable to breathe, and felt as if something were racing up her throat, something that was not supposed to. Some kind of liquid raced up Shadow's throat, rampaging over her tongue as it dove from her mouth, so avid to escape her. It was then she identified the taste. Blood. Not just any blood either, but her own. She watched in amazement as he very own blood streaked through the sky, arriving at Vanstrom's precise location. He held out his hand. Some of the blood formed an orb like shape floating in his hand, appearing almost to be like some sort of spell, ready to be fired. The rest circled around him, ready to be used as ammunition for whenever he required another shot. "Fear this!" Vanstrom took the orb of her blood and jerked his limb in Shadow's direction. When he did so, the orb shot across the sky at an astounding speed, flying straight for Shadow like a furious meteor. Initially, Shadow didn't understand how her own blood could hurt her, but when the orb reached her, it splattered against her skin, exploding upon contact and creating it's own mini, but painful, detonation. Shadow howled in agony, flinching from the strike and falling to her knees for a second. She was astounded by the attack, and now realized just how dangerous it truly was.  
Fear raced down her spine as she gazed into the sky, seeing Vanstrom quickly preparing another strike. It was amazing to her how much blood he had drawn from her system, and how it appeared so tame around him. When Vanstrom threw another towards her, she knew to dodge. She leaped aside, the attack just barely missing her. Her blood hit the ground not a foot away, exploding wildly, splattering her with blood. It stung slightly, but was nothing compared to the searing agony of being hit directly.  
She was forced to dodge more incoming strikes. A first one came, it missed by a long shot. A second shot flew at her, she dodged it expertly. A third projectile arrived, but she was able to avoid that one just barely. However, three times was all she could take. A fourth one fired down upon her, and blasted into her shoulder, sending that same searing pain racing through her bones as it detonated against her skin. Shadow couldn't comprehend how Vanstrom could use blood as a weapon, but he could, and she knew she was a sitting duck on the ground.  
Though unsure if Vanstrom had any more blood to fire upon her, she knew she wasn't taking anymore chances. Shadow spread her wings wide, ready to take to the sky. Glee rushing through Vanstrom as he contained the last two shots of blood he had in his hands, left and right respectively. She was finally coming to attack him head on, and now would be his chance to take her down.  
Shadow rose into the sky, though ungracefully. There was no beauty in how she took off, none of that grace most Vampyres flew with. It was a highly unappealing sight, and Shadow was even unable to stabilize her flight well. That didn't stop her, though. She pushed her wings downward, creating a thick draft of air, a current which she could ride straight to Vanstrom. "Finally, you fly! Fool!" Shadow yelped as blood raced past her, and she could her the explosion on the ground below. Vanstrom hid a shot, but the question was… how many? She soon learned when Vanstrom threw another at her, and it hit it's target, the detonation ringing through her ears as it smashed between her eyes. "Your flight will be your downfall!" When Shadow was hit, she lost control of herself.  
It became clear to Shadow that she had made a wrong move, horribly clear as she was unable to hold flight any longer. Any other Vampyres would've only been taken aback by a shot, but would've quickly recovered their flight. However, Shadow was unlike other Vampyres, still not fully used to flight and how it worked. So when was struck, she began crashing to the ground like a bird with a broken wing, where the bone had snapped clean apart. She wildly flapped her wings up and down, attempting to get herself back into flight, but to no avail. She soon feel backwards, a position which was not qualified for flying. She closed her eyes, ready to meet with the ground below when she inevitably crashed into it.  
Something, or rather someone, caused her to open her eyes, however, for she felt like there was danger approaching. Sure enough, Vanstrom was diving towards her viciously, ready to strike her down. As she was unable to control herself, there was nothing she could do to stop him. Her weapon had fallen when she lost flight, and she could not dodge if she could not fly properly. All she could do was scream as Vanstrom met with her, forcing her down towards the ground below as harshly as he could. She landed with an ear-wrenching smash, creating a crater in the ground from how much force had been working behind her falling and Vanstrom's pushing. Pain reverberated through her body, and she found herself unable to push Vanstrom off as he held her down, keeping her trapped under his weight in her own crater. Shadow attempted to struggle free of his grasp, but still to no avail, for crashing had caused great pain to race through her body, which weakened her natural abilities.  
"Get me that rope, now!" Vanstrom hissed to his guard, who made haste in throwing a rope Vanstrom's direction, which landed in his hand. Vanstrom flinched slightly, for he had coated it with the lethal juices of the Guthix Balance Potion-obtained by means he wasn't telling-which brought weakness to any Vampyre of any level who met with it. He knew that would be the only way to keep her down, and he was willing to risk contact with that lethal liquid to keep her contained.  
Vanstrom made haste in binding her, for she was in no position to stop him. He flipped her over on my stomach, pushing her arms together and binding her wrists. Vanstrom bit back the pain as he pulled the knot tight with his teeth, making certain it would be most difficult to untie. He then proceeded to tie her arms against her torso, making them completely useless for anything of any sort. He was once against forced to use his teeth to tie the knot down, but was able to ignore the pain, for he could only think about the pleasure of taking Shadow down as he bound her up like a pig. One more thing to tie was her wings, just in case she got any bright ideas. He finished by wrapping the rope around her long red wings, crushing them together as he bound them against her, making her unable to spread them open to fly. Once he tightened that knot, now out of rope, she was completely bound, unable to untie herself. He had purposely left her legs unbound, so he could push her around. She would not try to run without her arms and wings free, for she needed those to stabilize herself when she ran, or she would fall. Vanstrom couldn't help but smirk as he gazed upon his handiwork, Shadow struggling helplessly in her binds below.  
Realizing one more thing, Vanstrom reached into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a handkerchief soaked in a strange garlic juice, for he knew she still suffered that weakness. "I won, Shadow." he grinned as he tied off the handkerchief around her mouth, barring her speech. "And you lost. How does that feel?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Skryté Deti ****  
****The Hidden Children**

Now that Shadow was out of the way, Vanstrom could focus on the important tasks at hand. He completely ignored the helpless Vampyre as she struggled valiantly in her binds, trying to fight against the potion which drained her energy and snap the rope to free herself. Usually, snapping a rope would be no difficulty, be it made of even the toughest yak's hair. Unfortunately, every second the lethal potion rubbed against her skin was every second she could feel her energy draining from her; that, combined with the garlic juice trickling down her throat every time she bit down hatefully on the gag, weakened her, and made her physically weaker then even a mere human.  
Vanstrom had to wonder if his other guard had any success with the Skryté Deti and their representative. Had he cracked out of his shell just enough to get him their leader's attention? Vanstrom wanted to say he would wring his neck if he failed, but he knew to calm his anger, for the Skryté Deti were a difficult group for anyone to get the attention of, even Vampyre nobility.  
The guard that remained wandered past Shadow, ignoring her in her entirety, and sauntered near Vanstrom. Upon reaching Vanstrom, and falling into an awkward state of absolutely stillness, he inquired, "Is something on your mind, Lord Vanstrom?"  
When Shadow heard the guard referring to Vanstrom as a Lord, a title which was only deemed worthy for Lord Drakan under his say so, she began to scream boisterously from under her gag, breaking into a childish fit in a failed attempt to tell off Vanstrom for daring to be dubbed with such a title, for she knew he had told his guard to refer to him as so. She also ranted at the guard, despite her words being muffled by her gag, for he was ignorant enough to submit to Vanstrom's demand. The two of them turned head upon Shadow's fitful figure, curiosity and uncertainty flickering in both of their eyes. "What's she throwing a tantrum over?" Vanstrom finally asked, motioning to Shadow thrashing about below him.  
At first, the guard was unsure of how to reply, for he did not know what would bother her so much that she would be willing to waste her energy and time attempting to scream over her gag to get her point across. Initially shrugging, the guard eventually turned to Vanstrom, looking away from Shadow, and guessing, "Perhaps she doesn't like me calling you Lord Vanstrom."  
Shadow huffed loudly, which was about the only verbal cue she could get across to the two of them. Vanstrom must have accepted that as her agreement, which was true anyways, for he looked down upon her and yelled, "Get over it!" Without warning or reason to do so, Vanstrom suddenly kicked Shadow harshly, and the guard could see the minor pain and slight fear flickering in her eyes. The guard, however, made absolutely no reaction, simply observing, as Vanstrom abused Shadow. "I'll tell my bodyguard to call me whatever I so please. You're in no position to be arguing that." Once more did he strike her, this time slashing across her eyes. Shadow shuddered from the discomforting feeling of being struck and mistreated, but it had worked as Vanstrom had planned for, a slight tear in her eye, Shadow calmed down, afraid of being chastised by Vanstrom once more.  
For a moment, there was an awkward silence shared between Vanstrom and his guard, for the two had completely forgotten what exactly it was they were speaking of previously. Vanstrom had been so interested in the verbal and physical abuse he had been delivering to Shadow that he hadn't even entirely recalled the guard asking him what was on his mind. Eventually, he did recall it.  
"Oh, yes…" Vanstrom muttered as the thought returned to his mind, though he tilted his head a little. Despite how much easier he found it to think without Shadow throwing a muffled fit below them, Vanstrom still found train of thought wasn't quite running on track tonight. "I was just wondering how my other bodyguard was doing getting us a meeting with the Skryté Deti, that is all. I figured that they of all people would know exactly how I should proceed with ridding myself of that little monster, and I also figured they wouldn't mind what I had to offer them, as I'm sure they would be quite interested in a stone that summons an ancient dragon."  
Anger washed through Shadow as Vanstrom brought into clear view a dark looking stone, appearing almost crystalline. She instantly recognized it, for that was her Dusk Stone. Shadow knew something felt out of place, and it occurred to her that Vanstrom must have raised her room and stole the Dusk Stone while she was drinking blood downstairs.  
Once more did Shadow break into a fit, this time attempting to yell at Vanstrom for stealing her stone. She struggled against her binds once more, though feeling like she was making even less progress then the previous time, for the potion and garlic juice were both doing their job of weakening her quite well. Nonetheless, she kept trying, digging her pointed teeth into the handkerchief in hopes of tearing it, only to find she was unable of doing so. She refused to quit.  
Vanstrom glared down upon Shadow, certain that he had shown her well enough the first time what happened when she threw these nonsensical little fits of hers. Nonchalantly did Vanstrom walk around Shadow's backside, and Shadow attempted to observe, her neck craning to follow his movements. She gasped inwardly as Vanstrom abruptly kicked her in the back, knocking her flat on the ground on her stomach. Shadow whimpered pathetically, a sound which was actually able to escape past her gag. She could feel pain rushing through her body as Vanstrom dug his shoe into her back, deeper, and deeper, tormenting her every second. "Why don't you shut up?" Vanstrom bent over, positioning his face very near her own, which was absolutely ridden with terror. "You know, I'm pretty sure we already went through this a minute ago. I'm the captor, you're the capture; you're supposed to keep quiet and obey me. Unless you'd like to feel what it's like to have your bones snapped one by one." Tears rushed from Shadow's eyes as Vanstrom pushed his foot deeper into her back. Usually, her wings would've barred the damage, but he was pushing past them, making certain they could not act as a barrier for the damage which he was inflicting upon her. "I could start by crushing your ribs… or your spine. You're a spineless little cretin anyways, so it would be fitting, don't you think?"  
Shadow fearfully shook her head, for she had no desire to have her bones broken, even if they would heal. In fact, them healing was probably the worst thing they could do, for she would not put it past Vanstrom to simply re-break them every time they healed themselves. She attempted to tell him no, to stop, anything to cease his torture, but the words would not break past her gag.  
"Hmm?" Vanstrom smirked, tilting his head as if attempting to make out her words. "I can't hear a word you're saying, darling. You'll have to speak up!" He laughed cruelly, now verbally tormenting her once more. His joy quickly faded, and once more returned that chilling pitiless tone he was previously using on her. "Now, are you going to be good?"  
As much as Shadow wanted to fight back, to tell him where he could put his 'I'm superior to you' attitude, she inwardly realized that she was in no position to be doing so, for Vanstrom had her trapped in a never ending loop. Every time she fought back, he retorted with vengeance, and Shadow found her powers diminishing, and she was unable to endure his torment much longer. Noting this, Shadow timidly nodded at Vanstrom.  
Vanstrom lowered himself a little more, placing his hand upon Shadow's head. His head shifted a little bit more to the side, and, feeling like it was his job to torment Shadow, to make her act like his obedient little pet, Vanstrom asked, "Are you going to defy me anymore? For if you do, I'll have to get rough with you, just as I did before."  
Reluctantly, Shadow shook her head at Vanstrom, as much as it tormented her to submit to him so easily. However, she realized what little she could do, for she was already bound and gagged, nothing more then a squirming punch bag for Vanstrom to thrash upon at will. Though she was uncertain if showing fealty towards Vanstrom was really going to stop the abuse, it was the only road she could think to take for now, and thus she was forced to take it with whatever honor she had left.  
"Good girl." Vanstrom said with a smile, raising his head up a little so he wasn't so close to her face. Shadow struggled to sit up once more, feeling uncomfortable sprawled out on the floor like some sort of animal pelt. She grew tense as she could feel Vanstrom's fingers gentle stroking her head, the very tips softly passing over her as if she were some sort of pet, a puppy to be stroked. She was unsure how to react, what she was supposed to make of Vanstrom caressing her head like so. "Keep that up, and we'll get along wonderfully… until I can be-rid of you for good."  
Shadow turned her head away as Vanstrom rose, wandering past her as if she didn't even exist any longer. She didn't want him to see her cry, for she knew her tears would only serve as another incentive for Vanstrom to provoke her, another format in which he could torture her more then he already had. Her head already turned away, she also lowered it, trying to hide the wetness under her eyes, and the way it trickled finely down her face, portraying the sense of hopelessness which washed over her like a sweeping, yet passive, wave at sea. She just didn't know what to do, and as she sat upon the ground, no longer having the energy to struggle against the ropes that bound her, she wondered if she would ever be able to combat Vanstrom properly. She had given it her all tonight, and she really thought she had a chance at taking him down, but even as it appeared she wasn't doing half bad, Vanstrom turned the tables on her, taking advantage of a pathetic weakness she had and taking her down with it.  
"I wish to return to Canifis to see if he has made any progress. If not, maybe the Banshee will listen to me instead." Vanstrom abruptly stated towards his guard, taking no notice, nor care, of Shadow sobbing soundlessly in the background. "You shall deal with Shadow. Just make certain she doesn't try anything." He sneered in her direction and coyly added, "Though I doubt she would."  
The guard, who was already standing somewhat near Shadow in the first place, nudged her, though not as harshly as Vanstrom probably would have. Shadow glanced up dejectedly upon him, taking a minute to realize he wanted her to move. Without even saying a word to her, Shadow quickly got the hint, tiredly rising to her feet.  
The group of three passed back through the Haunted Woods, returning the way from which Shadow had initially came. Shadow wasn't quite sure, she thought that perhaps the guard was being gentle with her, more then Vanstrom would've liked him too, for perhaps, somewhere deep within, he felt bad for her. Vanstrom hardly even noticed what those two were doing. He would occasionally throw a glance over his shoulder to make certain Shadow was obediently following, but otherwise appeared to care less what was occurring behind him. Save for being bound and gagged by Vanstrom, Shadow actually found this journey more comforting then the first time, for as the rain had almost entirely let up since her departure, there weren't as many puddles of mud, nor leeches wallowing in the mud. This time around, Shadow's foot only fell into the mud once, and she was able to lurch it out before Vanstrom glanced back upon them, for she doubted he would be as understanding as the guard was. Shadow hadn't a clue who in the name of Zamorak the Skryté Deti were, or what exactly they had to do with her, but she figured they couldn't be good news if Vanstrom was getting involved with them. Shadow noticed the way Vanstrom scoured the outside of Canifis, not only avoiding the main square, but even making certain not to pass by Mazchna, or anyone else that could breathe and think for themselves.  
Eventually, Vanstrom came to a stop, gazing into the main square of the little village of Canifis, where the Werewolves were a trifle more active then when he had last been in town. Naturally, for it was only a natural reaction that they be happier believing Vanstrom had left their town. He realized instantly the displeasure he brought the Werewolves… he brought many people, actually. He liked it that way, though. He liked knowing that people were afraid of him, for those who feared someone usually made a habit of keeping their grubby nose out of said person's business.  
Vanstrom's ears flicked as he could hear approaching footsteps, someone who had spotted him and was approaching him. For a fraction of a moment, panic washed through Vanstrom, for he had preferred to remain unspotted as he scoured back to Canifis, not wishing to raise any suspicions on why he arrived so quickly after just having left. He was able to calm himself, though, for he eventually realized the someone who had spotted him was only his guard-the one he left in Canifis, not the one guiding Shadow-coming to meet up with him. Vanstrom smiled to himself as he saw who was trailing his guard, a rather gentle looking Banshee.  
The two stopped in front of Vanstrom, neither speaking at first. The guard, who still refused to talk to either of the Vampyre due to his status, remained as silent as ever. See, Vanstrom enjoyed life on the highest tier; the guard currently traveling with him, the only who always spoke, was on the high tier, below Vanstrom, but not by much; his other guard, however, was only on the middle tier, and being one tier below his fellow guard and two below his master, that guard always felt as if it was his place to be quiet, and never to speak to or when around Vanstrom and his other guard. Even when Vanstrom spoke directly to his silent little guard, he still refused to reply. That awkward silence he created made the relationship between Vanstrom's guards rather strained, for they never spoke with one another, always staring silently, hopefully awaiting something more desirable to occur.  
"Are you Vanstrom Klause?" the Banshee finally spoke up, holding her hands nervously behind her partially transparent back as she spoke, appearing a little timid in his presence. She looked straight at Vanstrom when she spoke, despite how quietly and nervously she had spoken.  
Vanstrom, realizing he was being spoken to, responded to the Banshee by saying, "Yes, that would be I." He said nothing more to her, for he was unsure whether she was meeting with him because the Skryté Deti had decided to speak with him or just to inform him they were unable and he didn't want to speak under the incorrect assumption.  
The Banshee attempted to smile in a friendly fashion towards Vanstrom, but was obviously thrown off by him, unnerved by the dark aura which always surrounded him, thus her smile quickly faded into monotone. "Your friend here told me about your situation. He also told me about that stone, though he refused to tell me what kind of stone it was. Regardless, I spoke with Lucien about your interesting circumstances and he said he was willing to meet with you, though he mentioned that he preferred you made sure you had the captive spoken of before arriving, as it will make his deduction easier." Before Vanstrom could respond, she quickly added, "I'm Marcy, by the way, representative of the Skryté Deti and a scout for possible clients, but I guess you already knew that." She bowed, and though a handshake would've been more proper, Vanstrom was intelligent enough to see that would not be possible. "If you'll come with me, I'll take you to Lucien."  
Vanstrom simply nodded at Marcy, not speaking a single word. She understood, however, and smiled slightly to him, turning around to guide him. When she moved, she floated higher in the air then usual, although not much higher then she was already hovering. Vanstrom subtly nodded upon his guard, who was idly standing next to Shadow, awaiting for something to happen. His other guard was still standing near Marcy, and almost followed her before suddenly dashing back beside Vanstrom. When Vanstrom signaled his guard to follow him, they did so without any arguments whatsoever. The group walked in a near single file line, Marcy in the front guiding the group, Vanstrom directly behind her, Shadow being forced to follow behind him, and the two guard walking side by side in the back, making certain Shadow walked where she was supposed to and nowhere else.  
Marcy lead them to a very tall and mysterious tower, who's shadow lurked over the group of four with a deep sense of foreboding. Vanstrom tilted his head upwards, attempting to see over the top of the building, but to no avail, the tower was like a skyscraper, and it danced with pride into the sky, blackening the view of anything behind it. Just looking up and seeing the top of the tower looming above you was already quite the sight to behold. Vanstrom lowered his head, keeping quietly to himself. This was a building known as the Slayer Tower. Vanstrom knew that, Shadow knew that… who hadn't heard of this astounding building? However, what made no sense to Vanstrom was why Marcy led them here; even less sense was found in the fact that she wandered around the back of the tower, for no back entrance existed.  
"I'm supposed to hide this from you." Marcy admitted timidly, suddenly turning back to face the group following her. "Lucien doesn't want anyone knowing where we're keeping base at just in case something goes wrong… but I can trust you not to say anything, can't I? You won't return to this base without a good reason…"  
Vanstrom smiled upon her, a smile that, though utterly creepy, was supposed to be comforting to the anxious little Banshee. "Why, of course." Vanstrom politely replied. "You have my word. I shall not return to your base unless there is an absolutely perfect reason to do so." He shot a glare upon Shadow, who had returning to struggling in her binds a little, upon adding, "I always keep my promises."  
Marcy's tail swung slightly, as if it were a lolling pendulum. "I hope so." she muttered, seemingly to shrink a few sizes as timidity took over her. "Well, since a lot of us come from an area in or near the Slayer Tower, Lucien thought we'd feel most at home around here. However, he didn't want to be surrounded by the infernal monsters inside, so he instead dug underneath the tower. Our base exists under here. I ask that you be careful, for the pillars in our base are actually the foundation of the Slayer Tower. Snap the wrong one and we could all pay."  
As Marcy explained that, Vanstrom played a real of such an event in his head. First, he played it as if he were being crushed. He would survive, no doubt, but it would not be a fun experience, and he grimaced imagining such a thing. His mind, thereupon, swayed to picture Shadow, still struggling to free herself, being crushed under the foundation of the Slayer Tower. Alas, she would probably live too, but she would be stuck under there, and it would hurt her for months to come. His grimace faded, being replaced with a cheerful smile as he imagined such an event occurring.  
Meanwhile, Marcy was sweeping away a little dirt with her tail, revealing a trap door which had even managed to escape Vanstrom's powerful eyes. Dirt settled quickly in Morytania, and it settled in large clumps and dusty piles too. It shouldn't come as a surprise that dust was able to mask the trap door to their base. Her tail wrapped around the handle, and Vanstrom had to admit he was a bit shocked that she was able to physically touch the door. Her tail curled up, and with it, came the door, squealing loudly as it opened. "This way, if you will." Marcy motioned.  
Vanstrom wasted no time in departing down the murky entrance into the unknown. Shadow froze dead in her tracks, for even though Marcy seemed nice enough, she was terrified to meet whatever was down there, especially if it had voluntarily accepted a meeting with Vanstrom. If it… whatever it was exactly… was able to willingly stand in Vanstrom's presence and not feel some sense of mortal terror, it had to be something horrifying, something Shadow had no fancy in meeting. Unfortunately for her, she could tell she was being given no choice. One of the guards took his axe and pushed it lightly against the back of her head. She tripped forward a little, startled by the feeling of a blade against her head, but hastened her pace as he pushed the bladed weapon against her more violently, clearly ready to dig through her skull if he had to. Timidly, she proceeded down the stairs. The guards then followed, and Marcy, in the back, made certain to shut the door tightly before floating down the stairs.  
Vanstrom jumped for a moment as Marcy appeared in front of him abruptly, despite clearly having been at the back of the group on a stairwell too narrow for anything other then single file. It soon occurred to him that she was a Banshee, though, and that her somewhat ghostly nature gave her the power to pass through solid objects, this one being the wall-or possibly the roof or floor, is she was feeling different-of the Slayer Tower. Thereupon, she appeared to be in front of him. As the rest of the group reached the bottom of the stairwell, the group spread out ever so slightly, the guards returning to the position that they held earlier side by side, directly behind Shadow, axe-like weapons brandished.

_"Ah come in… I see you have brought our guests…"_

Everyone save for Marcy glanced up curiously as a voice rode like an echo on the wind through the room, reverberating off the cave walls. Vanstrom found he was unable to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. Even Shadow ceased her useless struggles, astonished by the eerie, yet strangely soothing voice speaking to them.  
"If I'm going to be speaking with you, you're going to make yourself clear." Vanstrom yelled, pushing his stark white hair back a little as it rushed into his eye. "I prefer to see who I am speaking to when having such a meeting."

_"Oh how foolish of me… I forgot… you cannot see me. You should not ask who you are speaking to… but what, per say."_

Vanstrom hatefully argued against the voice, not presenting himself in the mature and noble fashion a Vampyre of his standing should have presented himself in. "Who, what, when, where, why… I don't particularly care! I cannot see you and you are speaking." His teeth clenched, and he attempted to stop himself from doing anything foolish. "Show yourself, or I will take my business elsewhere. I find that to be a reasonable enough thing for me to ask of you."

_"Hmm… alright…. If you say so. Only because you have caught my interest."_

With a very hard to distinguish verbal cue, lights flickered on. Though very dim, the candles which were lit almost instantaneously, as if by magic, provided just enough light for the rest of the chamber to be see. The chamber was nothing different from a dimly lit dungeon, a cave of sorts. The room was not very much decorated, which made it difficult for anyone to believe that there were… people… living down here. There were a few tapestries hung on the wall, most of them adorning either a dragon's head sigil or the marking of Zamorak. Red and gold seemed to be their favorite colors, for those colors were most prominent on the tapestries. There was a desk at the end of the room, directly across from Vanstrom. Three people lurked near the desk, though only one sat at it. They were all quite special.  
Actually sitting at the desk was a rather interesting looking creature. Upon first glance, the creature had anatomy that was somewhat human enough, but further investigation revealed nothing of the sort. The creature was dressed in dull black robes. The top half, where the hood was, was instead a deep red, perhaps better described as burgundy. There was also a secondary color to the primary colors of red and black, which formed curvy stripes through and would be best described at a shimmering gold, which sort of stood out. The creature had pale green skin, which definitely wasn't normal. The creature's legs were awkwardly skinny, save for the knees, which stood out as if someone had infected them and they grew too large. The creature had clawed hands as well, and after watching for a while, Vanstrom noted that one of the arms occasionally snapped out of place, being held together by some sort of orange substance, which allowed the arm to stretch in and out at well. The creepiest part of this creature was that it had no face. Something Vanstrom swore he could see a red glint in the shadow of the hood, but far as Vanstrom could see, there wasn't a nose, eyes, or a mouth, within that hood. In fact, Vanstrom strained to see if there was even a head, which he was beginning to feel convinced there wasn't.  
Standing next to this interesting creature was someone that looked and smelled to be fully human, which was awkward since nobody else in this room held that scent. He was clearly a mage, for he was dressed in robes, though Vanstrom failed to comprehend which robes exactly. The top half of the robes looked like an old version of the dark mystic robes, with a very large red piece on the shoulder, crossing over the chest and meeting in the middle. Where that piece met, was not only a brooch which appeared to be shaped like snakes head, but also had two skull-like charms hanging from it, though where they connected was beyond anyone. The bottom of his robe was very thick, just like his long sleeve, with awkward black pieces hanging off, starting at the waist and traveling down to about the knee. At the bottom of each piece was a blood red triangular mark, a red which went well with the red coloring of the material underneath his robe, which appeared where the top half did not reach. He wore a very large dark red had, which curled at the top like the branches of a curry tree.  
Laying on the floor, appearing very unaware of what was going on, was a very pale and hairless creature with faded red eyes, which did not have an iris or a pupil… nothing but a strange red glow, which dimly lit the area around him. The only thing on the creature's torso was a belt-like object wrapped over his left shoulder, meeting at his right waist, then traveling up his back to meet once more. The creature also wore black pants, but they were torn and ratty and didn't look like they served much more of a purpose then to cover up parts nobody wanted to see from a creature of his species… or much any creature. The creature wore nothing on his feet, and he seemed rather comfortable with the horrible shape his clothes were in, for he laid there on the floor quite peacefully, half awake and half asleep, oblivious.  
Unable to contain his sarcastic commentary, Vanstrom finally had the audacity to ask, "What kind of circus are you people running here? This isn't the big top, I would hope." Marcy sped past Vanstrom, isolating herself in the far corner of the room, as he spoke.  
"We're just a group of Morytanians with the same general views. Nothing more and nothing less." the creature sitting at the desk answered calmly, and though his voice no longer echoed off the walls, it was still clear that he was the one initially speaking. "We are the Skryté Deti, the hidden children of Morytania, so to say. I am Lucien." He motioned to the mage standing next to him. "This is my assistant Alastor. He is one of the Infernal Mages of the Slayer Tower." He then motioned to the creature half asleep below him. "This is Graveleaper and he is a Ghoul. Don't mind him, he just fed and is rather tired." He gazed next into the corner. "Marcy is our timid little Banshee and I'm sure you already know her." Finally turning back to Vanstrom, he finished, "Our last member is Byron, but he's still scouting Canifis for me. He should be back soon, though. I fear you may not fancy him."  
Vanstrom examined the interesting group. From what he noted, Marcy was correct. Most of the members of the group lived either in or near the Slayer Tower of Morytania, or… rather they had. "I'm sure I'll get over it." Vanstrom noted, sort of hoping inwardly that this Byron-whoever and whatever he was-did not return until Vanstrom was finished with his business. "I'd hate to kill your joy, but there are a few things I prefer getting out right now. Firstly, there can't be anyone I hate more then a human, except maybe Shadow, and that's it. For another, I understand the human is a mage and that he could be of us, but of what use is a Ghoul?"  
Before Vanstrom could get out his third statement, the Ghoul pushed himself up, straining with all his effort to get himself up even halfway to speak. "You aren't too amazing yourself… I've torn apart countless humans and creatures alike… Very few can combat me…"  
"Graveleaper is a combat specialist, and a very good one at that, though he sometimes can get over his head." Lucien interrupted, flicking his wrist so that his arm fitted back into place. "He isn't bothered with meetings such as these. He's more the one for the plan after the meeting. He also doesn't prefer talking very much, so try to keep speaking to him limited."  
Vanstrom threw the uninterested Ghoul a questionable glance, but Graveleaper either failed to see it or simply didn't care, for he plopped back down on the dirty ground below with a huff, attempting to return to his rest he was previously having. Vanstrom, ignoring the Ghoul's actions, since he no longer cared, turned to Lucien and rudely inquired, "If this is a group of Morytanian creatures, why are you the head of it? Better question, why are you even here. Though I fail to recognize your species, I am intelligent enough to realize it is not native to Morytania, and far as I am aware, other the you, doesn't even exist in these lands."  
Alastor shot a worried expression in Lucien's direction. Even Graveleaper, as uninterested as he was, appeared to be interested in the way of which Lucien would respond to such a comment. "Oh, but I know that's true." Lucien lowered his head a little, resting his chin in the palms of his clawed hands. "I was not born in Morytania, nor even anywhere near this place." He straightened his posture, no longer leaning over. "I am called an Otherworldly Being, so called because no one is quite sure where I came from, not even I quite understand my existence. My kind usually exists in Zanaris, quite happy to lurk in the wretched little field, surrounded by flowers, faeries, and the sparkling water of an everlasting pond."  
"You did not fancy such a place?" Vanstrom inquired, though caring very little, he wanted to appear as if he did, so Lucien would feel closer to him and be more willing to assist and assist well. He knew of Zanaris, a world who's location was never properly documented in which faeries supposedly frolicked and pranced. Vanstrom had always questioned if it was real, but Lucien seemed to be proving it perhaps was.  
Lucien shuddered, ignoring his arm when it once more fell out of place from where it was being held in. "That place was a nightmare. I'm not sure what the other beings were thinking, but all I know is all that twinkling sunshine, bright flowers, and faerie nonsense was driving me insane. I can't imagine why anyone other then a faerie would desire to live in such conditions." Vanstrom could feel a sense of comfort washing over the strange creature in front of him. Lucien liked being able to divulge himself to someone, to tell someone of his past who actually seemed interested… Vanstrom was going to continue to feed upon this weakness. "So I 'smuggled' my way out. Many a times had I seen humans entering and exiting the city while carrying long, mangled wooden poles. I began to assume those were involved in the process of escaping that place. So I killed a weaker human who was not expecting an Otherworldly Being to leave it's pool, stole the wooden staff, and fled. Well, here I am."  
Vanstrom, attempting to continue to feed from Lucien's weakness of speaking about his past, innocently asked, "You have fled far, I am to assume?"  
Lucien nodded. "Very far." He replied. "Very much worth it, too. I feel much more at home around this place then at Zanaris. Zanaris was too bright for me. I required gloom, darkness, and a foreboding sense of evil. This place served that desire well. As for the group… that is a story too long to tell. Skryté Deti has a very complex history. We, however, have business to attend to."  
"Mayhap another time, then." Vanstrom amiably said, inwardly thinking how glad he was that Lucien no longer wished to speak of his past, for his past was very dull to Vanstrom's ears. Literally, he could feel that lifeless sensation weighing against his brain, a weight which would not be easily lifted. He had come here for business, and business he was going to get.  
Lucien was almost like Vanstrom; when business needed to be attended to, he didn't waste any time getting straight to it. It was like the old saying 'time is money', except Vanstrom had no care for money, but perhaps Lucien desired what Vanstrom didn't. "Before you begin," Lucien started, "I must ask, did you bring the Vampyre Marcy mentioned? I explicitly asked that you already had the target contained before meeting up with me."  
"I brought her, just as you requested." Vanstrom replied, turning back to his guards. He hissed upon them, causing them to back away from Shadow. Terror washed through Shadow's mind like a rogue tidal wave as Vanstrom reached under her wings, grabbed her by the back of her clothing, and drug her across the room as if she hardly even mattered. Shadow attempted to yell, to cry for someone to release her, but her voice was as always, muffled into nothing. Even if she could be heard, who would help her? No one in this room, certainly. Nonetheless, that thrashing anger and agonizing fear returned to her, and she struggled valiantly, finding her powers barred by the precautions Vanstrom had taken against her escape. He threw her down on the floor in front of Lucien, and she found she was unable to get to her feet, for she could not push herself up with her hands, as they were bound not only at the wrists, but against her body as well. Shadow wept inwardly, small tears forming like crystals in her eyes. She quickly turned her head, not wishing to look upon Lucien and his horrifying visage.  
Lucien rose to his feet, glancing over his desk at the creature that lay bound in front of him. He observed silently for a minute, absolutely no emotion passing through him, then, feeling satisfied, glanced up at Vanstrom and said, "Good, she is just what you promised, and perhaps even more." Satisfaction swept over his mind. "A Vampyre noble… What do you want to be done… and furthermore, what are you promising for our intervention?"  
"I would like t-" Vanstrom began, unable to get any further into his sentence as the hurried footsteps of an approaching being skittered quickly in his direction. Lucien glanced up, Vanstrom back, as a little hunch backed creature rushed out of the staircase, into the main room of the base.  
"Hey Lucien!" the creature called in a rather excited voice, barreling past Vanstrom's guards as if they never even existed. "I watch Canifis like ask. Not much happen. There be a big Vampyre go through swamp, but not watch her much. Werewolves hide during storm, but they outside and play ball of skull now."  
A confused expression replaced the one of anger on Vanstrom's face towards the newcomer, for his way of speaking was very interesting, almost as if he hadn't a clue what exactly he was even saying. Vanstrom recognized the species instantly, though, and if this were the last member of Skryté Deti, then he could see why Lucien mentioned he wouldn't be well liked. The creature was clothed in the ripped rags of what appeared to be a Vampyre Juvinate's clothing. It had tall pointed ears, long arms with clawed fingers, and a thin leather under its arms sort of like wings. This was definitely one of the feral Vampyres, and Vanstrom absolutely loathed feral Vampyres.  
Lucien glared upon the hyperactive Vampyric creature, who appeared to not only be annoying Vanstrom, but also disturbing Graveleaper's rest as well. "Be quiet!" Lucien snarled forcefully upon the young Vampyre, speaking in a tone of voice as if he were scolding a very bad dog. "Can't you see we are in the middle of a meeting? How very rude to interrupt."  
"I is sorry, Lucien." the creature answered, scuttling past Vanstrom's feet, not even noticing Shadow initially, and sitting down near Alastor, who seemed completely indifferent towards the little creature's presence below him.  
"I AM sorry." corrected Lucien kindly, twiddling his fingers within each other. "Is would only be proper if you were referring to a single person other then yourself, as in 'He is sorry' or 'She is sorry'. Do you understand?"  
The Vampyric creature fell into silence for a minute, contemplating what he was just told within his head. "So… they is sorry too?" he finally inquired, seeming to wish to know if that were proper grammar or not. He appeared hopeful, as he seemed so very certain that this had to be correct. However, everyone who heard that sentence knew it was wrong, and they were all probably already expecting Lucien to correct the little creature once more.  
Lucien shook his head at the creature, who frowned when he learned that he was wrong once more. "They ARE sorry, Byron. When referring to multiple people such as they or we, the word are replaces the word is. Am is a word only used when referring to yourself; nobody else but you." Byron, who was apparently the Vampyric creature, appeared dejected at first, but then grew happier, gallivanting across the room cheerfully announcing sentences in the contest of someone being sorry, this time, for the most part, using proper grammar. "Do excuse Byron." Lucien suddenly said to Vanstrom, who he could tell was unimpressed. "I know how your kind don't like your feral cousins, but Byron is a very good scout and as I am teaching him English, he has become slightly less feral." When Vanstom appeared to be still unimpressed and unconvinced by Lucien's previous statement, he quickly proceeded to add, "And all interactions with him will be at a minimum. You'll hardly ever have to deal with him."  
"Good." Vanstrom responded boldly, his mutual dislike for Byron completely evident in his tone of voice. "Now, as I was saying before he so rudely interrupted, I would like to be rid of this one. Killing a Vampyre is no simple task, and nonetheless, a death would be too honorable for her. I want her name to be shunned for the rest of him, not looked upon in glory, which it surely will if she were to be flat out murdered. Besides, killing a Vampyre noble is a hard task, even for another noble, and I hardly have the time to waste with something difficult as such. Not worth it."  
Lucien, who no longer was on the topic of Byron, twiddled his thumbs aimlessly for a while, contemplating what he had been told. "We could get it done, have her name dishonored, but it would be no small task. The resources would be many, the risk would be great… but I'm not saying it isn't possible. However…" At this moment in time, Byron spotted Shadow, and appeared shocked to behold her, "a task of such grand proportion would be no simplicity and thus you would have to give me a pretty good reason to bother getting involved in something as such."  
Vanstrom was swift about yanking out the Dusk Stone and throwing it in the direction of Lucien's desk. The stone was tough, and it didn't so much as chip when it slammed against the hard surface of Lucien's desk, rolling a couple inches before coming to a stop in front of him. "Is this a good enough reason?" Vanstrom inquired. When Shadow spotted that he was offering up her Dusk Stone as payment, she struggled wildly in her binds, attempting to scream and howl to tell this infernal monster not to touch her Dusk Stone. Her efforts were, as always, in vain.  
Her screams were evidently ignored, as Lucien picked up the stone and overlooked it, a deep interest flickering through him. He tossed it in his hands, tilting his head one way to the side, then another, observing it from all different angles. "This is a very interesting gem you've got here. I've never seen anything like it. What's it worth?"  
"This is more then just a mere gem stone." Vanstrom bragged, as if he himself had created to thing. Shadow continued to attempt to get them to focus on her, to listen to her and not to bargain the stone. However, as Vanstrom sauntered past Shadow to approach Lucien, he subtly, but violently, pushed his foot into the back of Shadow's ankle. Tears rushed down her eyes and she whimpered as crack echoed across the room, signaling that the bone in her ankle had been snapped to some degree. "This beauty is called a Dusk Stone." Vanstrom rested his hands on Lucien's desk, something he didn't prefer, but made no effort to stop Vanstrom from doing. "It's a very ancient artifact, something that Lord Drakan had been holding on to for years. He eventually passed it on, though, to the little monster down there. Far as I'm concerned, it's mine. However, if you fancy it, we can call it the payment."  
Lucien still seemed interested, but held a questionable sense behind the interest. Sure, it was rare, and Lucien didn't find it difficult to believe it was ancient, for it surely looked the part. Nothing stopped Lucien from wanting to know more and he was left so as he, still grasping the darkly stone, peered up at Vanstrom and asked, "What makes it so special, then?"  
"Perhaps the fact that it can summon an ancient blood dragon to do the bidding of whoever wields the stone, a creature which Shadow here has taken a fancy to making timid and quiet." Vanstrom explained, and smirked as he added, "The stone is in your control, though, and even if the dragon is still associated with her, it listens to you. You could order it to do whatever you want."  
Though Lucien neither a physical nor a verbal cue that he was pleased, Vanstrom could sense it. Shadow glanced up at the horrifying creature, worried what he would do with that stone in his control. "Hmm… I can't believe I'm going to take your word for this without proof, but I'll accept your stone in return for my services. In fact… if this stone really does summon a dragon, I think we may already have a hole of our plan filled wonderfully so."  
While fear rushed down Shadow's spine at Lucien's comment, Vanstrom felt the complete opposite emotion, a sense of bliss dancing down his. Lucien, however, remained tenacious, not submitting to any emotion which dared to enter him. He threw them all aware, his mind deep in the course of plotting, thinking, and conceiving…


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Fury of the Wolfbane ****  
****Always watch your step**

The plan was already being set into motion. Lucien and the rest of his group was now on Vanstrom's side and nobody was going to stop this outstanding event-to-be. Not a soul knew where Shadow was, nor that Vanstrom had anything to do with her disappearance. In fact, it was highly likely that no one had even noticed she was gone in the first place. They probably all thought she was still skulking in Canifis, that perhaps Malak had not even arrived yet. While they were discovering and contemplating Shadow's disappearance, Vanstrom would already be nearly done ruining her tragic little life. There was a joy within which Vanstrom had not felt for many, many years.  
Lucien didn't seem quite keen on the outside world, and his relaxed attitude faded to a more serious side as he met once more with Vanstrom at the top of the stairwell. Lucien had a walk much the same to Vanstrom's, striding when at ease, but taking small rapid steps when ill at ease or deeply involved in something. Vanstrom had to wonder as he watched the Otherworldly Being walk, how much Lucien weighed, for it seemed unnaturally impossible that such fragile, skinny looking legs could easily support a whole body, unless that whole body hardly weighed a thing. Not that Lucien seemed to notice his disregarding of logic.  
Vanstrom's group held their usual position outside, whereas Lucien remained standing in front of the staircase, refusing to delve any further into the outside world if he wasn't required to. The bitter wind blew against the group, but none yielded to it's frigid touch. Lucien held up his hand, allowing the wind to dart past his clawed fingertips gracefully. Turning his head-which Vanstrom was still unsure whether or nor truly existed-to Vanstrom and his group, Lucien then said, "I do believe this could work, but time must be given to us to prepare for such a thing. Until then, you'll have to find somewhere to hide her, somewhere where your fellow Vampyres would not think or dare to look for her. We would keep her in our cave but that hardly seems sporting as it was you who caught her and you who shall manage her."  
"Do not worry of that." Vanstrom responded, his eyes scanning over the interesting shape and existence of Lucien. "I have a dungeon in the basement of my house. No one is even certain it exists and not even the most observant of eyes could pick out it's entrance. Nonetheless, people tend to stay out of my house and with good reason, might I add."  
Lucien didn't appear to care about Vanstrom's tale, about his dungeon or his house or anything else he was going to speak of; in fact, Lucien didn't appear to care if Vanstrom even had a proper place to hide her. "That will do." Lucien mumbled quietly, appearing to be put a little ill at ease over something, though Vanstrom failed to identify what that something was, exactly. "This can work, but we all must be one in this plan. I must warn you, if anything happens on your watch, if you are to be discovered or she is to escape, I still get to keep the stone. You're failure will not change anything. We were paid, you messed it up, it only seems fair we would get to keep the payment. So don't screw up."  
Narrow did Vanstrom's blood red eyes, glaring with a certain degree of spite at Lucien, who was speaking to him as if he were a child, who needed to have the world explained to him before he could truly wander into it and find joys and sorrows from it. "That's quite fine, but what if the plan fails because of you, or anyone else in your group? Then what are the terms?"  
At first, it appeared that Lucien was not highly keen on answering that question, as referencing failure to his group seemed to have the same general negative effect it did mentioning it Vanstrom. Neither of the two men took a fancy to being told they may fail, despite the fact that failure had been something both had felt many of times in their life. "If anything is to fail because of the poor actions of any member of the Skryté Deti, and that even includes Byron, then the stone will be returned to you and we will part ways as if nothing even happened. You may return to your devious activities and we shall continue our underground work; nothing more and nothing less."  
Vanstrom's ears flicked once as he listened to Lucien, though not a soul could tell the reason behind such a reaction. It simply happened. Nevertheless, Vanstrom eventually replied, "I can agree to that. It would only seem fair that since you messed it up I get my stone back, doesn't it?" Vanstrom smiled coyly, knowing that he had twisted Lucien's earlier sentence against him in the same way he had used it at Vanstrom not more then a minute ago. He finished his mocking by saying, "So you'd best not screw up either."  
"Indeed so." Lucien added almost instantaneously after Vanstrom finished his sentence. There was a slight tension building up like a towering wall in front of them, but this wall's foundation was weak, and it crumbled very easily as the two men slowly stopped accusing one another of possible failure. "We shall further decide who succeeds and who fails when the time comes. Until then, the Skryté Deti needs to get to work on collecting supplies and drawing up a plan." He paused, glancing downstairs as if he heard something down in that hole, but eventually lost interest. "It shouldn't take us too long. Be there any way to contact you when we are done?"  
Vanstrom thought about it for a minute, considering many things that could possibly be used to keep contact without drawing everyone's attention. "Well, just recently Lord Drakan implemented a system of messaging via bats. The bats are all over Morytania and no one gives them a second glance. I happen to have my own bat named Rabiador." Vanstrom lowered his head with a hateful snarl as he heard a snicker behind him. "Rabiador isn't the brightest bulb in the bunch, but he can carry a parchment from one location and back without completely screwing it up. We could make use of that system."  
"That may just work, as long as that creature truly can move a message from one place to another without getting horribly lost or ruining it." Lucien responded bitterly, appearing to take great pride in adding more insult to one of Vanstrom's pets. "Send a daily message through the bat. If we are not done, we shall send the bat back with nothing, and if we have finished, I shall personally message you back through the creature. You needn't say much in the letter, just something to let me know you are still interested in the services of the Skryté Deti"  
Accepting what Lucien said, Vanstrom calmly nodded, though the guard behind him noticed the bitter expression that had been covertly thrown his way. His smile almost instantly faded, and refused to return even after Vanstrom had turned his back once more. "I can do that." Vanstrom agreed, actually sounding polite and sincere over his usual 'I'm better then you' tone which he usually spoke in."  
"Then we are in agreement." muttered Lucien, to which Vanstrom had no response. When it became evident that neither side had anything further to add, Lucien turned on his heel and added, "I'll be going, then. I suggest you depart as well." Before Vanstrom could respond, or even think of a response, Lucien delved back into his hole in the ground, walking graciously down the stairwell as the door closed gently behind him. Vanstrom and his group was now left completely alone.  
Vanstrom brushed his hair aside, doing so in an attempt to give his empty mind something, anything, to concentrate on. "Come on, boys." He finally called, throwing a glance in his guards' directions. "We should head back to Darkmeyer." The guards nodded at Vanstrom, neither speaking a word as their leader slowly paced past them. "Once we return home we can throw the little problem here in my dungeon. I'm sure she'll feel right at home in there."  
Nearby lurked a girl in full black-Ravana-who had just happened to have wandered closely enough to overhear some of Vanstrom's conversation with his guards. She froze in her tracks, abandoning her previous hunt for something much more interesting. Ravana crawled over some thick undergrowth she had been rustling through, shaking her head as it popped out of a gnarly bush to see if she could spot Vanstrom. Her eyes jostled back and forth, seeing nothing but grass and swamp plants and dead trees. She then turned her attention towards the Slayer Tower, wondering if perhaps she had just heard something odd that lived within the tower. Ravana had learned over the years that a lot of the creatures in the Slayer Tower had no greater desire then to be free of the nightmare of living within the tower. Some of them would simply howl or moan in sadness, wishing inwardly to be free; others may bash against the walls, hoping they can break through a weak spot in the tower's foundation and send it tumbling down, allowing them to break free. These creatures made so much noise that Ravana had learned to simply tune it out, for it was very unlikely to stop. Yet, these weren't the howls of a saddened creature wishing for freedom it would never feel, this was most certainly Vanstrom, and Vanstrom was with someone other then his guards. His dialogue heavily suggested so. If she heard him, where was he?  
Her gentle amber colored eyes focused on four figures, one taller then the others and one sitting on the ground. Her eyes first met with the figure of a man adorned in waving, lustrous red robes with messy stark white hair. She knew almost immediately in her mind who this was…Vanstrom. So obviously, the two men with axes were just some sort of bodyguards. They had to be, for they didn't look to be important in any way nor exceedingly special. They just looked like Vampyres with axes.  
Finally, she gazed down upon the figure on the ground. This one was bound and gagged, appearing to be too weak to bother to attempt to free herself any longer. She simply sat upon the mucky ground, head held low, a dejected expression wallowing in her eyes. It took Ravana only a couple seconds to realize this was Shadow, the very Vyrewatch she had been following around and keeping an eye on, just in case she ever got in danger. Shock rushed through the young Werewolf's mind as she observed her weakened friend under the control and in the possession of Vanstrom. She knew almost instantly that he must be using things like the Guthix Balance Potion to keep her weak, for even Ravana, who was not physically as strong as a Vampyre, could've easily snapped through those ropes, even after an eventful battle. Poor Shadow appeared absolutely exhausted, and it occurred to Ravana that Vanstrom may have just patiently waited for her to wear herself out until proceeding with any other actions so she would be a bit on the tame side and all around easier to control.  
Ravana could feel the fury building up within her. Every bone in her body tingled with inner rage, which she was quite keen to release. She snarled, not loudly, not even loud enough to be heard by the ears of a Vampyre, but she could still hear it. As she brushed her fingers against the ground, she could feel sharp claws digging into the dirt. Ravana paused, allowing her claws to sink deeper into the dirt and wiggle back and forth, feeling the moisture. She gazed upwards for a moment, but only a moment. Without warning she yipped, biting the bottom of her lip as a searing pain stole over her body. She rattled with the pain, trembled and shuddered as her body transformed. Her ears grew tall and pointed, flicking rapidly in reaction to the rest of the transformation. Unlike most Werewolves, she could feel her entire anatomy changing. Her arms and legs were growing to the same size, skinny, but powerful legs of a wolf, with razor sharp claws adorning them. Her skin began to overlap with shiny white fur, which bristled to portray her anger. Even her tail, which grew at an outstanding rate, was bristled, portraying the furious rage which caused her to change. As her transformation completed, Ravana rose her nose into the air, a wolf's snout of sharpened teeth showing, and released a boisterous howling sound. This was no howl of happiness or bliss, but a howl which told others to beware, because a Werewolf was coming.  
Without much warning, Ravana came tearing out from the bushes, a frenzied look in her eyes. She landed roughly on the ground below, stirring up dirt as her paws skidded across the ground. She stood with her legs spread and her head lowered, her teeth were bared directly towards Vanstrom and his guards. She panted slightly, but not from exhaustion. She panted simply because it was in her wolfish nature to do so. Ravana glared at Vanstrom, waiting to see how he would react.  
Vanstrom gasped under his breath at the sight of Ravana. Now, he wasn't afraid of the wolfish female, not even in the least. He was simply surprised to see that a Werewolf had discovered him. Not to mention, he was shocked at Ravana's appearance. White was not a common Werewolf fur color, to begin with, and Ravana was even more mysterious because she was standing on all fours. Somehow, though, the girl seemed familiar to Vanstrom and it took him a while to pinpoint it.  
"Ah, look at this. It seems we've aggravated one of the local Werewolves." Vanstrom said with a smirk, overlooking the creature standing in front of him. "I feel that it wants me to be afraid, but I just can't take it seriously. It looks like one of the wolves of White Wolf Mountain. Very unthreatening."  
Ravana snarled at Vanstrom, insulted by his assumption that she was nothing more then one of the White Wolf Mountain wolves. She could defeat any of those wolves whenever she wanted and not even bat an eye. Ravana suddenly raced towards Vanstrom, running at one of the highest speeds a Werewolf could possibly reach. She leaped valiantly at Vanstrom, inserting the vile Vampyre's leg into her mouth and sinking her teeth deep into his skin. Her nose scrunched up in fury as she bit Vanstrom. She shook her head from side to side in order to tear apart the clothing material and the skin hidden underneath. Vanstrom shook his leg subtly. While it didn't appear as though he had actually achieved anything, the force behind which he shook his leg was great and with it he flung Ravana off. Ravana's teeth lost their grip on Vanstrom's leg. The furious Werewolf went cascading through the sky, landing with a loud thud and a subtle whimper on the dirty ground below. Her white fur was now dyed brown by the dirt, but she didn't mind. Appearances meant absolutely nothing in a fight. Ravana rose back to her feet.  
An expression of amusement lit up on Vanstrom's face as he overlooked Ravana once more. "Wait, I know who you are, now. You're that Werewolf from the Hair of the Dog Tavern, the one that mutt stole the room key from to give it to me. How amusing! You've come for a little revenge."  
Shadow glanced up upon hearing Vanstrom mention the Werewolf from the Hair of the Dog Tavern. Could it be the same one that threw a coronary early in the morning? Could it possibly be the same Werewolf that tore up Roavar's tavern? Somehow, the Werewolf looked familiar to Shadow too. Unlike Vanstrom, however, who had only seen her that one time in the tavern, Shadow somehow felt she had seen this Werewolf many-a-times before.  
"Hey, dog!" Vanstrom called to Ravana. His use of the term 'dog' earned him a hateful glare from Ravana, a glare which bore right into his very soul. "Yes, I'm speaking to you, you overgrown mangy mongrel." Ravana bared her teeth at Vanstrom, a way of straight up telling him what she thought of him, which was a flurry of vulgar thoughts, to say so. "You must think you're so tough, don't you? You honestly believe you can defeat a Vampyre noble?" Vanstrom abruptly laughed boisterously, which surprised Ravana. "I would like to see that happen. Come at me, dog. Come at me. See what happens."  
Ravana's fury was at its breaking point. She couldn't contain her anger much longer. Every taunt, every insult, every time she was called 'dog', it only served to tick her off even more. Her breathing grew heavier, her fury bulging at the edge, about the break loose. She tried as hard as she could to contain her fury, to hold it back, to take Dar'ran's advise to remain calm, yet she was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore Vanstrom and his endless taunts. Ravana shook her head, a furious shake of the head. It was as though she were simply waiting for Vanstrom to say the wrong thing. Say it, she was thinking towards him. Go ahead and say the wrong thing. Then you can see what happens.  
"Yes, you mongrel, I want to see your best. I want to see what you consider your best fighting." Vanstrom continued to chastise Ravana. He could easily tell he was aggravating her. The fury showed plainly in her cold eyes. "Well? Are you going to just stand there? Is that your best fighting? Ha! You're about as threatening as a rock."  
Finally, Ravana couldn't take the insults anymore. She shot upwards, her ears flicking once or twice before she charged straight for Vanstrom. Vicious snarls could be heard coming from her mouth, growls of fury and anger. As she neared Vanstrom, she howled loudly, a howl that was meant to be a battle cry, a warning that Ravana was coming and she wouldn't let up for you. Ravana opened her mouth wide, ready to chomp down on Vanstrom. She leapt, aiming for his chest, ready to tear out his heart if that was what it took for her. Her attack, however, was short lived.  
Vanstrom grabbed Ravana by the jaws, holding them open with one hand on the upper jaw and one on the lower jaw. Ravana fell awkwardly, confused by how easily Vanstrom had managed to hold her back. She forced her back foot a little further back, holding herself upright as she pushed against Vanstrom, trying to overpower him so that she could rush in for the kill. Vanstrom, however, was not allowing Ravana to do anything of the sort. He didn't even need to position himself properly. He could hold the furious Werewolf back easily.  
"Is that it?" Vanstrom inquired snidely, tilting his head to the side as he held Ravana easily at bay. "This is about as threatening as a leech." Ravana narrowed her eyes at the vicious Vampyre. "No, I'm serious. I've seen leeches fight back better then you are, and I don't mean full grown ones. I mean the little, squishy, baby leeches. How does that make you feel?"  
Ravana snapped several times at Vanstrom, but he simply drew his hand back in order to avoid the snaps. He could see the anger bubbling deep inside her eyes, but that didn't frighten him. He knew when someone had met their match, and Ravana was absolutely no match for the power of a Vampyre noble. Ravana tried once more to snap at Vanstrom, but the sadistic Vampyre noble could read her every thought. Snap to the right, simple dodge. Snap to the upper left, already moved aside. Snap to the center, easy to avoid. The fact that she was missing so frequently only served to irritate Ravana even more. The continued snapping at Vanstrom, but he only kept dodging them as though they were nothing. Ravana aimed her teeth towards the center of Vanstrom, but he grabbed her snout as it furiously snapped shut. Ravana struggled in Vanstrom's grip, trying to free her snout so she could open her mouth and clamp down her teeth right on Vanstrom's hand, where he deserved it.  
Vanstrom held Ravana's snout closed with a single hand, the other hand hidden behind his back. "See, dog? This is just pathetic. I'm stopping you with one hand behind my back. I'd tell you to give up, but I know how persistent your kind is. You'll keep trying until I kill you." Shadow noticed the smirk forming on Vanstrom's lips, a smirk that caused her to shudder. "So if I absolutely have to kill you, then I guess I'll do just that." Shadow attempted to scream out for Ravana, to tell Vanstrom to leave her alone, but the gag muffled her cries to nothing. Vanstrom turned over his shoulder, still able to hold the struggling Ravana at bay. "Oh, silence yourself. I'll be with you in just a minute. Guard, yes, you that never speaks. I want you to keep an eye on Shadow while I deal with this mangy mongrel."  
The guard nodded, saying nothing in response, as per usual. He stepped behind the other guard, closing the gap between him and Shadow. The other guard glanced between Shadow, the quiet guard, and Vanstrom rapidly, wondering why he had not been commanded to watch Shadow. He, of course, decided not only to not argue about it, but to not even think about it as well, just in case Vanstrom decided to pull out the mind reading card. The guard knew that Vampyres usually didn't read other Vampyres minds, for it was dishonorable to do so, however, he was also intelligent enough to realize that Vanstrom was unlike others of his breed. If he thought that one of his guards was thinking nasty things about him, the guard knew Vanstrom would ignore the dishonor brought upon by reading another Vampyre's mind and read his guard's mind anyways to make certain they weren't thinking anything bad about him. For if they were, the guard knew Vanstrom would deal with it swiftly and painfully.  
After commanding the guard into place, Vanstrom turned his attention back to Ravana, who's struggles were growing increasingly rougher as she tried to free her snout from Vanstrom's grip. Growls of vicious fury could be heard rumbling up from the deepest reaches of Ravana's throat. They were warnings, bad omens to Vanstrom that if he didn't let go of her that something horrible would happen to him. Vanstrom wasn't afraid, though. In fact, he just laughed at her growling, ignoring it as though it were a completely innocent sound.  
Without warning, Vanstrom brought down Ravana's snout violently to the ground. He smashed it against the hard earth below. Ravana whimpered slightly upon collision, but otherwise remained hungry for more, ready to rise and fight Vanstrom once more. After having her snout smashed violently into the ground, blood was dripping out from between her teeth and tongue. That didn't stop Ravana, though. She simply rose to her feet and attempted to shake it off.  
Ravana swallowed her own blood, which wasn't as delectable as swallowing the blood of innocent prey. She coughed and gagged, unable to believe how disgusting her blood was. She coughed so violently that she spat up spots of blood on the ground below. She left big red splotches from where she had coughed up blood. Ravana knew she couldn't let something trivial like coughing up a little blood sway her mind away from taking Vanstrom down.  
Ready to fight once more, Ravana ran for Vanstrom, leaving a thin trail of blood as the crimson liquid dribbled out of her mouth. Vanstrom's nose rose slightly into the air as he inhaled the scent of the Werewolf's blood. Usually Werewolf blood didn't smell all that delectable, but somehow hers was almost causing Vanstrom to salivate at the mouth. He knew now what he wanted. It wasn't as simple as wanting to take down the Werewolf foolish enough to start a fight with him, now it was victory and blood he wanted. Vanstrom wouldn't stop until he tasted the Werewolf's blood in person. If it tasted half as good as it smelled, Vanstrom could only imagine what was waiting for him. Nobody could quite see the frenzy in Vanstrom's eyes, but it was there. His lust for blood was powerful, very powerful, and when Vanstrom wanted something, he would stop at absolutely nothing to get it.  
Vanstrom leapt to the side as Ravana attempted to strike him. She skidded across the dirt, missing Vanstrom by an inch. Hate bubbled furiously in her eyes. Anyone could see the hatred and spitefulness in Ravana's eyes. She was getting sick of Vanstrom dodging her every attack, stopping her before she could finish an attack. She wanted to harm Vanstrom, not the other way around. Once more did Vanstrom dodge Ravana as she raced at him. Her teeth clamped down on nothing but air as Vanstrom once again avoided one of her attempts to hurt him. She growled, a furious growl which said one thing and one thing only, 'Stop dodging my attacks'.  
"Oh come on you mongrel. Surely you can move faster then that?" Vanstrom openly mocked Ravana, jumping to the side once more as she attempted to attack him in a fit of rage. "That was even more pathetic then your previous attempts."  
Shadow knew what Vanstrom was doing. Vanstrom, like any other Vyrewatch, could read Ravana's mind. He predicted where she was going to strike and then dodged before the attack could land. With the high stamina a Vampyre held, she knew he could literally keep this going for hours as long as she kept missing. Even if Ravana somehow managed to land a strike on Vanstrom, Shadow somehow imagined it wouldn't really harm him that much. In Shadow's eyes, Vanstrom was playing a game with Ravana. It was a test of fury, a game where Vanstrom purposely worked hard to see just to what degree he could royally piss off Ravana. He would just keep dodging her until either she grew tired of attacking and collapsed in exhaustion or he grew bored of dodging her attacks. Both scenarios would end the same, with a furious strike down from Vanstrom, an attack where he was actually trying to take her down. Just how long would this game of catch and release go on? There was no way to know for certain.  
Once more did Ravana attempt to strike Vanstrom. Unfortunately for Ravana, Vanstrom stepped aside with a vivid yawn. He was growing increasingly bored of dodging her attacks. Ravana was panting heavily now. This time, however, she wasn't panting because it was in her blood, but because she was growing tired from all the times she attempted to strike down Vanstrom and missed horribly.  
This time when Ravana ran at Vanstrom, he reacted a trifle differently to her. He stilled stepped aside to dodge the attack, as always, but this time instead of allowing Ravana to innocently book past Vanstrom, he stopped her right in the middle of her mad dash past the dastardly Vampyre. Vanstrom grabbed Ravana roughly by the scruff of her neck as she ran past him. She yelped loudly as Vanstrom stopped her dead in her tracks. Ravana wasn't quite sure what to expect now. Would she get thrown again? Not even Shadow could predict what Vanstrom was going to do. She tried reading his mind, but her powers were far too diminished to accomplish such a feat.  
Vanstrom pushed Ravana down to the ground. Her legs spread out awkwardly as she was forced to the ground. She yelped once more, trying to rise to her feet, but Vanstrom kept a firm grip on her. Were the games finally over? Was Vanstrom ready to finish off the ferocious Werewolf once and for all? He lifted his foot, pushing it down on Ravana's back. Shadow shuddered as Ravana let out a cry of pain, for she knew what it felt like to have Vanstrom's boot digging into your back. What was he going to do to the poor Werewolf now that he had her pinned down on the ground like that? Suffice to say, nobody was ever expecting Vanstrom's next move.  
With Ravana down on the ground in a position of fealty, Vanstrom was able to do what he had been waiting to do for a while now. He pushed the Werewolf's head to the side, clearing room for his neck strike. Suddenly, Vanstrom dove in towards Ravana's neck. He sunk his pointed teeth deep into the poor Werewolf's neck. Ravana howled in pain as the ferocious Vampyre fed from her. She kicked and struggled in Vanstrom's grasp, but all to no avail. Ravana could find no way to escape what was being done to her. That, however, didn't stop her from struggling furiously.  
Vanstrom couldn't believe that a Werewolf's blood could possibly taste so delicious. He wasn't sure what type of blood he was sampling from the wolfish creature, but all that he knew was how delectable it was. He drank in thick gulps, swallowing large amounts of her blood as she struggled for freedom from Vanstrom. He simply continued to feed, drinking in as much of her blood as he could. Vanstrom took his old sweet time and when he finally felt like he had taken enough of the Werewolf's blood to teach her a thing or two, he stepped back, admiring the taste one last time as he released Ravana. With all the blood taken from her, she found it difficult to rise. Her head was spinning and it seemed like the whole world was spinning with it. Ravana stumbled clumsily as she rose, moving like a newborn deer.  
With a certain degree of uncertainty, Ravana was able to eventually stand strong and not wobble around like she was some sort of newborn deer. She narrowed her eyes once more at Vanstrom, unable to believe that the Vampyre had dared to feed from her in the middle of a battle. Ravana was furious with him, but she now realized she was no match for Vanstrom.  
Now, Ravana turned her eyes to a different target. If she couldn't take down Vanstrom and free Shadow, maybe she could instead overpower the guard and release Shadow while Vanstrom was still trying to figure out what she was up to. Surely that middle-tiered guard would be no match for a fully blooded Werewolf. Ravana smiled, liking the new plan.  
Shadow couldn't believe what she had just seen. Vanstrom had fed mercilessly upon Ravana. When he forced Ravana down to the ground, Shadow had never imagined that his plans for her were to feed. Shadow had tasted Werewolf blood and it wasn't all that amazing. Nonetheless, Shadow could see the pleasure in Vanstrom's eyes when he drank from Ravana. He was enjoying it, which meant Ravana's blood was something to take pleasure in. Somehow, this sickened Shadow. She couldn't imagine drinking directly from a Werewolf. Yet, Vanstrom had done just that.  
"You see that, dog?" Vanstrom gleefully taunted Ravana, who was still trying to return to normal after being fed upon. "I was not only able to overpower you, but I stole your blood too. You are weakened. You can barely stand, barely move. So take a moment and listen to me. I am a merciful man at times." Shadow laughed inwardly at this comment, for she had certainly never seen Vanstrom give mercy to anyone, especially someone who deserved mercy. "So, how's about this? You go back to your little village of mangy canines, play a nice game of Skullball and we'll both pretend like this fight never happened. I'm allowing you this chance to go about your business, as I will go about mine. So, what say you, mongrel? Do you accept my offer?"  
Ravana knew she could never accept such a pitiful bargain from Vanstrom. In fact, she couldn't even believe that Vanstrom would dare make such an offer to her. Did he not realize that a Werewolf never gave up? Even if she wasn't planning to attack the other guard, there was no way in hell that Ravana would even silently abandon a fight.  
Vanstrom was growing ever more impatient as Ravana simply stared him down. Was she going to answer or not? "Well, dog? What will it be? Do we continue this senseless fighting or do we both go about our own business?"  
As though to show Vanstrom what she thought of his other, Ravana released a vicious bark towards the Vampyre, which he appeared to not fully understand. He narrowed his eyes, as though he was assuming her bark meant no, but he couldn't be all too certain. He wasn't expecting Ravana to try anything and thus found himself shocked when Ravana suddenly charged at him.  
"So, we continue this senseless fighting then?" Vanstrom asked as Ravana ran for him. "Fine, I can do that, but don't say I didn't warn you. We already went though this once. If I can get you down on the ground once, I can most certainly do it again and this time, I won't be so friendly to you. If I get you down on the ground again, I will kill you, mongrel. I will slaughter you in cold blood. I will-"  
Vanstrom gasped in shock as Ravana purposely dodged him, revealing that it was never her intention to strike Vanstrom in the first place. He couldn't believe she had missed on purpose. At first, he thought it was some sort of fake out, something to distract his mind reading powers, but then he noticed Ravana was running straight for the guard watching over Shadow. Ravana never even wanted to attack Vanstrom. She simply wanted the guard.  
Ravana leaped upon the guard and pushed his arm into her mouth. Her teeth sank violently into the guard's arm. She pulled back on the guard's arm, pulling so viciously that eventually a snap echoed out across the clearing for all ears to hear, which was soon followed by the vibrant screaming of the guard. When that snap echoed across the clearing, Ravana let go of the guard's arm. Blood was trickling down his arm like a stream.  
Unfortunately for the guard, Ravana wasn't done with him. She raked her claws across his face, causing blood to stream down into his eyes and mouth. He stumbled back upon being scratched, stumbling uncertainly. The guard tried to use his mind reading powers against Ravana, but for some reason they just weren't working for him. Even when he thought he knew Ravana's next move, it turned out he was wrong and Ravana overpowered him.  
Ravana suddenly jumped on him, pushing him down flat on his back on the ground. She hovered over the horrified guard, viciously snarling in his face, saliva dripping into his mouth. She first sunk her teeth into his upper leg, tearing backwards and shaking her head in all directions to tear apart the skin. That was only the beginning, though, for soon after Ravana tore his leg apart, she then bit into his shoulder, sinking her teeth deeper and deeper into the guard's shoulder blade. She yanked back ferociously and another snap echoed out through the clearing. Somehow, he wasn't healing properly. The guard couldn't understand what was going on, but everything seemed to be going wrong for him. One attack after another the guard wailed in misery and fear, for he was losing to a Werewolf and he was showing this loss right in front of Vanstrom. Would he even be able to live it down.  
Then came the final attack, the strike that was meant to finish the guard off once and for all. Ravana sank her teeth into the guard's chest, pushing her snout in deeper in an attempt to pierce his heart. Her teeth tore straight through all sorts of vital and non-vital organs. She would occasionally draw back, tearing out entrails from inside the guard. She continued to push in deeper… Ravana was prepared to slaughter this guard mercilessly, just as Vanstrom had warned he would kill her.  
Before Ravana could deliver the final blow to the guard, before her teeth could sink into his heart and end his life, the guard was suddenly gone. Ravana fell to the ground with a gasp, wondering where the guard had went. She then saw a thick cloud of mist floating directly in front of her. Fury washed over Ravana like a rogue wave. The Vampyre had gone into mist form in order to avoid being further damaged by the furious Werewolf. Ravana snapped at the mist, but to no avail, for every time she tried to bite down on the mist it just floated between her teeth unharmed.  
Ravana wasn't given much time to contemplate the Vampyre changing to mist form, though, for Vanstrom raced at light speed at Ravana, drew back his clawed hand, and swung it furiously at her, knocking her a good twenty feet away from the guard's cloud of mist. Ravana wailed in pain as Vanstrom struck her down, landing limply on the ground. Vanstrom had defended his guard even after the guard had failed him in the midst of battle.  
The guard who had changed to mist form traveled away from Ravana. Once enough space was between him and Ravana, he reverted back to his regular form, collapsing on the ground, blood rushing from his various wounds. He breathed weakly, unsteadily, but the point was that he was still breathing.  
Ravana rose to her feet weakly, eyeing Vanstrom, who appeared ready to strike again. Ravana could barely stand, the poison embedded in Vanstrom's claws working its way through her system. As much as she didn't want to give up, Ravana knew it would be smarter to flee now then to continue fighting a battle she could simply not win. Vanstrom watched as Ravana turned tail, fleeing the scene of the battle at the best speed she could manage. Vanstrom knew how easy it would be to catch up to her, to strike her down permanently, but he was pretty sure she had gotten the picture. You never try to take down on of Vanstrom's guards, for he will strike back at you. Vanstrom remained where he stood as Ravana fled, watching as the Werewolf's figure became increasingly smaller and smaller until it was no longer visible to his eyes.  
Ravana eventually stopped in the middle of Canifis, collapsing to the ground as blood trickled down her arm. She quickly reverted back to human form. Her snout shortening into a nose once again, her tall ears fading, and her tail disappearing into her body. The fur shed rapidly from her body, cascading to the ground and suddenly shriveling up. Soon, Ravana lay in complete human form in the middle of Canifis. Her clothes were ripped and torn and blood still continued to trickle down her arm. She panted weakly, knowing she had just barely escaped that battle with her life. Nonetheless, Ravana felt a certain degree of pride within, for at least she had taken down one of Vanstrom's guards with her.  
Ravana remained where she lay until a large silhouette hovered over her, observing the wolfish female's wounds. The large creature carefully picked Ravana up from the ground, carrying her back to his living quarters. She didn't fight, however. She simply allowed the newcomer to carry her off. The two disappeared into a trap door behind the Hair of the Dog Tavern.  
Back at the clearing behind the Slayer Tower, Vanstrom raced to check on how his guard was doing. The guard was highly weakened, bleeding heavily from many different places, but he was still alive and that was all that mattered to Vanstrom. "Hey, you!" Vanstrom called to the other guard, looking over his shoulder to where the guard stood.  
"Yes, Lord Vanstrom?" the guard inquired, wondering what Vanstrom could possibly want of him at a time like this.  
"I need you to keep a close eye on Shadow on our way back to Darkmeyer." Vanstrom commanded his other guard, turning his head back to focus on the wounded guard in front of him. "I must attain to our friend here."  
The guard didn't argue about watching Shadow. He quietly inched closer to the bound Vampyric noble, pausing beside her before saying to Vanstrom, "You're absolutely certain you still want to continue with the plan after what just happened, my lord?"  
Vanstrom fell silent for a moment, placing his hand over the guard's chest to check if his heart was still beating. It took Vanstrom a while to answer his other guard, but the guard didn't mind, for he knew what just happened was a tragedy. He waited very patiently until Vanstrom eventually responded, "I'm not going to allow some foolish Werewolf's intervention to ruin my plans. I've been planning this far too long to stop now and anyways, we already contacted the Skryté Deti. It would to absolutely foolish of us to quit when we've gotten so far already. Anyways, he'll be just fine. The Werewolf harmed him, but he's still breathing and thus he is still healing. He'll be ready long before we need him."  
"If you say so, Lord Vanstrom." responded the other guard. "I won't argue with your opinion." You never argue with Vanstrom. That was a clear rule.  
Vanstrom suddenly lifted the defeated guard off the ground. It took absolutely no effort to lift the guard either. He simply heaved the guard over his shoulder and held him there like it was nothing to him, which it very much was nothing. "Good. We'll continue back to Darkmeyer now. First we'll stop at my house to get rid of Shadow, then I'll take this one to somewhere where he can heal properly." The guard realized that meant him staying behind at Vanstrom's house all alone, with nobody but the Vampyre's horrifying pets Harold and Rabiador to keep him company, but he knew not to argue with Vanstrom. Like aforementioned, you never argue with Vanstrom. "Now come." Vanstrom commanded.  
The guard quickly ushered Shadow to her feet. She rose with little argument and followed with even less of a battle. She was still taken aback by what she had just seen. Ravana had torn that guard to shreds and even though she knew just as well as anyone else here that he would survive, it was still a shock to see a Werewolf take down a Vampyre with such ease. She couldn't imagine what had caused that Vampyre to act so poorly in battle. Was he really that bad at fighting or was Ravana more powerful then she initially appeared to be?  
As the guard forced Shadow to follow Vanstrom away from Canifis and the Slayer Tower, Shadow had to wonder inwardly what had become of Ravana. She had fled back to Canifis, but what would happen next? Would somebody take her in and heal her wounds? Who would get Vanstrom's poison out of her system? Little did Shadow realize that a certain somebody was already taking care of Ravana and that she would be fine in no time at all.  
Vanstrom didn't bother looking back at Shadow as they continued towards Darkmeyer. He appeared all too focused on carrying the injured guard, the guard who would have probably been dead now had it not been for mist form. Mist form had saved that guard's life. Somehow Vanstrom just knew Shadow was following. Perhaps it was out of fear of what Vanstrom would do if she didn't follow or perhaps it had just become normal to follow Vanstrom around. Either way, she didn't have much of a choice.  
Occasionally, Vanstrom would stop and readjust how he was holding the injured guard over his shoulder. Whenever Vanstrom did this, the other guard subtly came to a stop and forced Shadow to do the same. The two of them would simply wait while Vanstrom readjusted himself. Then when he was ready to continue, he would simply move on. He would say absolutely nothing to his guard. He would simply brush himself off and continue the way he was moving.  
Something about the powerful silence mystified Shadow, made her not want to attempt to say anything. Perhaps she was fearful of how Vanstrom would react now? She wouldn't put it past Vanstrom to be incredibly edgy since one of his all powerful guards had just been taken down by nothing more then a Werewolf. Shadow certainly didn't want to feel his wrath, should he still have the fury from the previous encounter built up. That was what kept her silent and what was what made he follow the guard as though it were only natural.  
Thus the group of four continued through the outskirts of the Haunted Woods, heading closer and closer to Darkmeyer itself. They walked at a slow pace, but that was to be expected since Vanstrom was hauling around an entire living creature, so to say.  
Shadow knew they would arrive at Darkmeyer soon, just as well as Shadow knew that what Vanstrom had said was true. He would stop at nothing to ruin her. He wouldn't allow the defeat of his guard to stop him. In fact, Shadow imagined it only powered him more, gave him even more of a reason to continue. Shadow was afraid of what would happen when the group arrived at Darkmeyer, but she knew there was nothing she could do to change the course of actions. She could do absolutely nothing but passively observe as events passed by one by one. Just as the guard was victim of his fate, Shadow was victim of her own fate too. That was how life always worked for Shadow… a victim of fate.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Return to Darkmeyer ****  
****Stranger things have happened**

Vanstrom crossed covertly into Darkmeyer, making certain none of the other Vampyres were the wiser to his capture of Shadow. He was becoming increasingly tired of carrying his Vampyric guard, for even though his weight meant little to someone of such powerful strength of Vanstrom, it was still a burden to have to carry another being. He had lifted many heavy things in his lifetime and his guard was certainly not the heaviest, but his guard was being drug along the longest, which in return was making the trip quite a tiresome one.  
"You will take Shadow to my house and lock her in my dungeon." Vanstrom commanded, keeping his head low for some apparent reason. He glanced up at his only guard still standing. "The secret passage is in the bookcase. Look for the book entitled 'Holy Hallowvale' for that will be the key to opening the passageway." Vanstrom turned his head aside bitterly, as though he were remembering something which he did not fancy having to recall. "I never liked that book anyways. It was far too focused on the good things about Icyene. There is nothing good about an Icyene. Nothing. Why do you think we corrupted them and forced them into Vampyric state? Worthless creatures they are. 'Downfall of the Icyene' is a much better title. More focused on why the Icyene are the pitiful creatures-"  
His guard coughed subtly, for Vanstrom was slowly drifting off topic of the order he had been previously giving. "The secret passage, my lord." the guard silently suggested, trying to return Vanstrom to his previous topic.  
Vanstrom stopped, looking upward as though something had caught his eye. "Oh yes, that. I must have gotten off topic." The guard resisted adding in his own commentary, for Vanstrom would not have liked it. "There's a cell with dragon chain in it. I retrieved the chain from one of the old dungeons in Castle Drakan. Lord Drakan hasn't a clue in the world where it went off to and I don't think he'll ever truly realize what it's being used for. It wasn't as though he was using it anyways."  
The guard realized Vanstrom was once more straying away from his original topic, something he often did when speaking about something meaningful to him. However, the guard couldn't imagine why dragon chain was important to Vanstrom. "You're straying, my lord." the guard noted.  
"Was I now?" Vanstrom inquired thoughtfully, wondering if he really had wandered away from the original point of the conversation. "Well, anyways, you'll want to put Shadow in that cell. Untie her with caution, though, for ever though she may be weakened I would not put it past her to attempt to resist. When I come back from Castle Drakan I shall deal with her. Leave her gagged, though. I don't worry that anyone will hear her, for my dungeon is impenetrable, I simply doubt you want to listen to her screams. Watch her until I return. I shouldn't be long."  
"What am I to make of your bloodveld?" the guard asked, happening to recall the ugly beast which watched Vanstrom's home so diligently.  
Vanstrom glanced up once more, muttering a nearly inaudible "Hmm?" which proved that he had not been listening to his guard. It only showed how much he cared about what he had to say and how the reverse could be said for anything his guard said.  
"Harold." the guard stated matter-of-factly, trying to be a straightforward as he possibly could in the referencing of his pet.  
Finally, Vanstrom bothered to listen. He took the single word uttered by his guard and a realization came to his mind. "Oh yes, I did forget that my pet bloodveld Harold would be watching my home." He knew that Harold would strike anyone, including other Vampyres, who wandered too close to Vanstrom's home. That meant that Harold would not be afraid to strike down his guard.  
"Well, how am I to get past Harold without being turned into a rug?" the guard asked impatiently. He knew he could take Harold in a fight for the creature was only a mere bloodveld, nothing a Vampyre couldn't defeat. However, he was also intelligent enough to realize that fighting Harold to the full extent of his power would not be an option, for Vanstrom would be most displeased to return home to find his pet laying limply on the ground.  
Vanstrom laughed, as if the question were a most obvious one. "Getting past Harold is much easier then it would seem. Harold will try to sink his teeth into your legs, for that's what I commanded him to do to any Vampyre who entered my house without my say so." The guard shuddered, imagining what it would feel like for a Vampyric bloodveld to sink its teeth deep into his leg. The guard couldn't even imagine why Vanstrom would have his bloodveld under such an order, but he dared not argue. "Simply grab him by the tongue and pull his tongue down to the ground. That will force him into submission. Then you'll be able to enter my dwelling as you please. Now, off with you."  
The guard absolutely did not argue with Vanstrom. No further questions were exhausted as the guard turned to leave. He subtly bumped into Shadow as he passed her, hinting at her to follow him. Vanstrom turned the other direction without question, leaving before confirming that his guard could actually handle the bundle of fury that was Shadow.  
Silently did the guard observe as Shadow plopped to the ground like a disobedient dog. His hissed darkly under his breath, half wishing Vanstrom was here so he could knock some sense into the young Vampyric lady. The guard was not going to be outdone by someone as weak as Shadow, though. He thought for a moment, thinking about what Vanstrom would do if Shadow tried to pull this act on him. Then, the answer came to him.  
Without wasting another moment, the guard reached downwards towards Shadow, who was uncertain of what was to happen to her. He yanked her out of her sitting position, holding her heavy body easily into the air. Her legs remained crossed and for a moment it seemed she was sitting in the air. However, the guard violently shook her, startling her badly. Her feet landed on the ground and she stumbled with uncertainty as the guard released his grasp on her. Furiously the guard pointed the direction in which he wanted her to go. Unfortunately, she disobediently turned her head to the side.  
The guard refused to be outsmarted by someone who was bound and gagged, however, so he quickly launched into another plan to subdue her. He shuddered to do such a thing, but he leaned forward and sank his pointed teeth deep into Shadow's neck. It pierced through the neck brace she was wearing and tore open her skin. Shadow screamed, not only in pain, but in shock. Nobody could hear her pain, though, for the gag soaked up every sound she released.  
In the end, Shadow submitted to the guard, lowering her head and following him where he wanted her to go. The guard had made certain not to drink any of her blood, for he wasn't sure how Vampyric blood would affect him. He figured he couldn't die from it, for Vanstrom had told him tales of drinking from another Vampyre, but the guard wasn't going to take any chance. He was simply pleased that Shadow was now obediently following him and no longer resisting.  
The guard moved swiftly through the darkest alleyways of Darkmeyer, making certain that he didn't attract attention from the Vyrelords and Vyreladies wandering the main streets. He knew none of them would ever dare enter the alleys. Occasionally there was a Juvinate in the alleys, for on very rare occasions the lower ranking individuals of Vampyre society were allowed in Darkmeyer, but that was a very rare occurrence. It seldom happened anymore. On the off moment the guard did run into a Juvinate prowling the dark alleyways of Darkmeyer, he simply made a distraction and snuck deftly past the unaware Vampyre. It was quite simple to do and rarely had to be done to begin with. The real difficulty was keeping Shadow moving. Without Vanstrom to force fear deep into her heart, Shadow was beginning to resist. Every now and then she would stop and the guard would be forced to rustle her a little to get her to continue moving. Suffice to say he couldn't wait until she was subdued down in Vanstrom's dungeon.  
All of a sudden, the guard paused, pushing Shadow back against the wall of a nearby building. Just across the street was Vanstrom's house. However, there were two Vyrelords wandering very nearby and the guard knew he would have to wait until they left to move Shadow across the street. He waited patiently and just so happened to hear a tidbit of their conversation.  
"Did you hear that there's an elf living in Burgh De Rott now?" asked the first and taller of the two Vyrelords, seeming eager.  
"Indeed I have." responded his smaller friend. "I simply cannot believe that an elf would travel all the way from their safe little town of Prifddinas to come live out in the dangerous lands of Morytania. It seems rather ridiculous."  
The taller Vyrelord paused, thinking about what his friend said. "Who are we to question the elf's choice? I think it's a most wonderful occurrence." His friend tilted his head to the side, wondering how that could be so. "Simply think about it. We've been feeding on the blood of Werewolves and humans for as long as I can remember. It will be interesting to see what elven blood tastes like."  
The smaller Vyrelord nodded with an understanding glint in his eye. "When will they do sending out Vampyres to attack Burgh De Rott?" He asked his companion as the two of them began slowly walking northbound.  
"I am not too certain." replied the taller Vyrelord. "I have heard it will be very soon, though. I wouldn't get too excited, if I were you. They have to find the elf first and regardless, who do you think will get the first taste of elven blood? Probably Lord Drakan or Lady Vanescula. They won't pick out someone in our ranks, you can bet."  
His smaller friend shrugged. "I care not who gets first taste. As long as I get to taste it, that's all I care about." His friend regarded him coolly as the two Vyrelords wandered further up the path, their conversation becoming less and less audible for Shadow and the guard as they wandered out of hearing range.  
The guard quickly hustled Shadow across the main street before anyone else could come and see him. When he crossed the street he came to be right in front of Vanstrom's house. It cast an enormous shadow on the two Vampyres, towering well above them. It was one of the tallest and most impressive buildings in Darkmeyer, besides Castle Drakan, obviously. Even though he had been to this house several times before in the service of Vanstrom, the guard could never get it past him just how amazing Vanstrom's house really was. Even the doors, which stood silently closed, appeared big and beautiful to the guard. Shadow didn't find herself as highly impressed with the house as the guard. She too had been to Vanstrom's house before, but it was rarely on an occasion not forced upon by Vanstrom. Only once did she visit his house without being kidnapped and that was only because Lord Drakan forced her to. That was her first time seeing it and she was only mildly impressed by the grandeur of the building in front of her.  
Glancing aside at Shadow, the guard realized she wasn't even looking at the house, nor did she seem to notice they were about to enter it. Shadow had her gaze cast entirely aside, looking back where the Vyrelords had last been seen. Perhaps she was hoping they would return. Perhaps she was hoping they would save her. The guard couldn't be too sure. All he knew if that he would feel a lot better once he got her off the streets and down in Vanstrom's dungeon.  
The guard moved gracefully forward, pushing against the big double doors which lead into Vanstrom's house. The doors opened with silence, as if they knew stealth was of key importance to this mission. The guard quickly pulled Shadow into Vanstrom's mansion, closing the doors behind him, leaving worry and doubt outside.  
The inside of Vanstrom's house was equally as beautiful to the guard. There was a sitting area, which the guard questioned since Vanstrom never had guests. There was a large fireplace, very beautiful. There was also a desk with papers stacked high. Next to the desk was a perch where a rabid looking bat sat patiently, awaiting the return of his owner. The guard was taking so much time to look over the splendor of the house that he almost didn't notice the inhuman growling below him.  
Standing below the guard was a small, but horrifying creature of an almost indescribable nature. He was a purple creature with bulging skin. It had two sets of legs, the front legs which had Vampyric wings attached to them. The creature wore a spiked collar around was the guard assumed was his neck. The creature appeared to have no eyes, for the guard could see none past its mouth, which opened wide to reveal sharp, fanged teeth and a whip-like tongue. The guard knew this was Vanstrom's esteemed pet, Harold the bloodveld.  
Harold drew back his mouth, releasing a vile hissing noise upon the guard as he bared his teeth. The guard knew what Harold meant to do, but showed no fear to the creature as it attempted to frighten the Vampyric guard.  
Without much warning, Harold suddenly leaped towards the guard, his teeth ready to sink into the guard's leg. Right before Harold could latch on, though, the guard deftly grabbed a hold of Harold's long, skinny tongue. Harold's tongue curled awkwardly as it was grabbed. Harold struggled to get his tongue back so he could strike, but the guard did not allow the beast to have return of his tongue. Instead he forced his hand down to the ground, causing Harold to smash awkwardly to the ground as well.  
He then released his hold on Harold's tongue, closely watching the creature in case it behaved differently and decided it would attack again in a fury. However, Harold did nothing of the sort. The malformed creature released a horrible whining sound, backing away from the guard. The guard watched as Harold lowered his nose to the ground, sniffing intently. It then backed away into the depths of Vanstrom's house, allowing the guard to enter.  
The guard yanked Shadow deeper into Vanstrom's house, releasing his hold on her not too far from the large bookcase which was not too far from the fireplace. Not exactly smart, thought the guard. For what if they caught on fire? Vanstrom's fireplace glowed dimly and the guard wondered if he ever put out the fire. Noticing quickly that it didn't matter, he turned his attention instead to the bookcase.  
The guard searched the bookcase for the book which Vanstrom had told him would be the key to the dungeon. Meanwhile, Harold sniffed around the house, walking a set path as though he were patrolling the house for some reason. The guard lifted a foot as to allow Harold to pass underneath him. He shuddered, finding discomfort in Vanstrom's choice of pets. He, however, allowed Harold to do as he pleased. As Harold stopped to thoroughly sniff Shadow, he continued searching the bookcase.  
Finally, he found it, a book titled 'Holy Hallowvale'. It was sitting right in the middle of the bookshelf and the guard realized it was purposely placed on a spot for easy access. It wasn't set too high or too low, but just perfect for someone wishing to find it in a haste. He yanked the blue-bound book from where it sat on the bookcase, wondering if something would happen immediately or if he had to do something else to cause the door to open. The guard waited a few seconds in case there was a delay, but absolutely nothing appeared to happen.  
With nothing happening, the guard opened up the book, thoughtfully pawing through the pages. Surely Vanstrom wouldn't have made his dungeon too difficult to access, would he? The guard knew it was important to Vanstrom that nobody discovered that he even had a dungeon, but he also realized that if it were that difficult to get to, Vanstrom would've given him further instructions… wouldn't he? Vanstrom was well known for going off topic and forgetting what he was initially talking about. Maybe there was something he forgot to mention… or maybe…?  
As the guard turned a page deep in the back of the book, he came to find that the page wasn't entirely in tact. There was a hole in the page and within that hole existed a small red button. The guard couldn't imagine how the button could be connected to the dungeon, but he saw no other reasonable explanation. Blaming magic, he pressed down on the button.  
The bookcase slid aside slowly, making a little bit of noise as it did so. It even managed to catch Shadow's attention. Both the guard and Shadow had seen the door to Vanstrom's dungeon open before and neither were highly shocked by it. Both simply watched as the bookcase made room for a stairwell, which obviously lead to the dungeon.  
The guard pulled Shadow down the staircase and into the dungeon. Shadow shuddered as she stepped off the stairwell and into the depths of the dungeon. There were six cells, three on one side and three on the other. Each had chains thrown into the cell. Some cells still had the remains of whoever had been unfortunate enough as to cross Vanstrom in them, decayed corpses leaving behind nothing but bones. Shadow couldn't suppress the feeling of fear as she was guided past each and every cell. The guard stopped in front of the third cell on the left side. Inside the cell was a pale red chain, which Shadow had come to know as dragon chain. Made from dragons themselves, nothing, and that meant nothing, could ever hope to break apart these chains.  
Shadow made a fuss of herself as the guard opened the cell, fighting back as the guard attempted to yank her into the cell. It took quite a bit of pulling, but finally the guard managed to yank her into the cell. He closed the door behind him, careful not to lock himself in by mistake. He pushed Shadow to the ground, fumbling with the chain.  
As the guard prepared the chain, and once he finished, he reached towards Shadow, pulling the weakened Vampyre closer to him. He worked to undo the binds which Vanstrom had put her in. He untwisted the rope from around her wings and body and arms, leaving her completely free. Shadow, realizing this was her only chance at freedom, bound across the cell as soon as he arms were unbound. The guard reacted as well, and he reacted faster then he. He grabbed her by the leg, knocking her to the ground. Shadow grunted as she hit the ground, trying to struggle from the guard's grasp, but with no luck found, for the Guthix Balance Potion was still working its magic on her.  
The guard pushed Shadow's arms against the wall, clicking the chains into place and locking her arms. Shadow immediately worked to fight against the dragon chain, but to no avail. It was stronger then her. As Shadow fought to free herself, the guard then restrained her legs as well, locking her legs into place. As he stepped back, Shadow was entirely restrained to the spot. He could leave the cell door open and she would be unable to escape. She fought to scream and howl, but the gag which was still in her mouth restricted any access to speech, barring her from screaming out.  
With Shadow now restrained in dragon chain, the guard stepped out of the cell, closing and locking the door behind him. As he returned upstairs, he could hear the chains rattling together as Shadow attempted to break them. He knew not to worry though, for he trusted Vanstrom that the chains would hold her. He returned upstairs where Harold was waiting. Sitting down in the nearest seat, he stroked the unlikely beast gently on the head.  
Shadow knew she was entirely alone in Vanstrom's hidden dungeon. There was nobody alive but her down there and she knew that Vanstrom would very well allow her to rot down there if he so wanted. However, realizing she was no match for the chains in her weakened state, she silently gave up the battle, lowering her gaze dejectedly as she wondered how she was going to get herself out of this chaos.  
Meanwhile, Vanstrom had carried his guard all the way to Castle Drakan. He approached the doors of the looming castle, expecting to be stopped by the guards, who were always weary of anyone wanting to enter the castle. It annoyed Vanstrom, for he was nobility and yet the guards still checked him as though he were nothing more then a mere Juvinate. He knew Lord Drakan was paranoid, but it annoyed him to just what degree Lord Drakan's paranoia extended.  
"Welcome back, Vanstrom." greeted one of the castle guards as Vanstrom approached the door. Vanstrom had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Go ahead and greet, though Vanstrom, as long as you don't know anything else. "Where is your other guard?"  
"I don't think it be your business where my guards go." Vanstrom hissed vilely, not caring much that he earned himself two angry glares from both the castle guards. "As you can see, my guard has been horribly injured in battle, so either let me in the castle so I may help him or don't. Don't and there will be three Vampyres in need of medical attention."  
The guards swallowed nervously upon hearing Vanstrom's threat. They knew they were no match for Vanstrom, though they weren't aware of just how serious he was being. Nonetheless, the other guard stepped forward and said, "Alright, sir, no need to get violent. We're simply performing routine checks. Nothing to get hostile about."  
Readjusting his grip on his weapon, the first guard said, "We'll let you in the castle right away, Vanstrom. Just allow us to open the door."  
The two castle guards moved their weapons aside, pushing open the double doors to Castle Drakan as they did so. They made no move to stop Vanstrom from entering the castle. Anyone could see Vanstrom was a trifle on the moody side at the moment and nobody wanted to cross Vanstrom when he was moody. As he entered the castle, the inside guards offered the same friendly greeting which the outside guards had offered and received the same hostility in response. Vanstrom huffed vilely, as though the guards had insulted him by greeting him. He threw the hallways a quick glance, wondering which way would be quickest to get his guard to help. After watching the hallways for a moment, Vanstrom decided upon the center hallway and briskly headed down the hallway of his choice, ignoring the guards completely.  
He passed many other Vyrewatch on his way through Castle Drakan. He was beginning to find himself appalled at the kinds of Vampyres being allowed inside Castle Drakan. There were Vampyres of all sorts he passed from the younger generation to the older and wiser Vampyres. Vanstrom liked to remember a day where only the noble Vampyres were graced with the honor of being able to step foot inside Castle Drakan. Now it seemed like just about anyone could get inside and that highly bothered Vanstrom.  
Vanstrom stopped as two Vyrewatch blocked his path, wondering how he was going to go about getting them to move. Neither of them seemed familiar to him, but that wasn't a surprise to him because he could care less about the names of mere Vyrewatch. His guards were lucky he knew their names, not that he ever used them.  
"Yeah I heard about the plans to attack Burgh De Rott." said the female Vyrewatch, appearing to only be slightly interested in what the two were talking about. "That doesn't really interest me, though, Vzayko. I mean, I know their have been rumors of an elf in the city and that's quite wonderful, but do you really think elven blood will taste all that different?"  
Vzayko raised an eyebrow at his Vampyric friend, wondering about the way she acted. "How can you not wonder what an elf's blood will taste like?" He paused, allowing the female a chance to answer if she so wanted.  
She shrugged, uncertain of what she was to say to her friend. "I don't know. It just doesn't really appeal to me that much. Don't let that stop you from enjoying it, though."  
"I really don't understand you, Vyci." Vzayko commented to his female friend. "How can you call yourself a Vampyre but not be interested in blood?" Even Vanstrom found himself agreeing there, despite how little their conversation meant to him and how much he simply wanted them to get out of the way. "I mean, you make no sense at all. You keep calling Meiyerditch Hallowvale; you're always asking to see people who don't exist; you don't even behave like a common Vampyre." He paused once more, but this time simply to catch his breath, not to allow her to speak. "I mean, you hate blood and you're always expressing concern for the humans. Who does that?"  
Vyci shrugged once more, uncertain of how she was to reply. She had to admit, she didn't quite understand her behavior either. Whenever she thought she was acting normal for a Vampyre she found out she wasn't. "Well, I've got to go speak with Tykalo, so I think I'll be going now."  
Vzayko threw Vyci an interested glance as she mentioned the name Tykalo. "I'd hate to be the downer here, but there's nobody under that name living in Darkmeyer or Meiyerditch or anywhere in Morytania far as I see it."  
"Is that so?" Vyci asked curiously, appearing shocked that the person she wanted to speak with once again didn't exist. She was so certain he existed.  
"You're really creeping me out." commented Vzayko, who took a step back from the poor, confused Vyrewatch. "I think maybe it's better that you do leave."  
Now Vanstrom remember Vyci, though Vzayko still rang no bells for him. Vyci was once an Icyene named Glycia. From what Vanstrom had heard, Shadow had known her when she was an Icyene and back before Vampyres even entered this world. Somehow she remember her Icyene past and that always stroked her strange behaviors. As Vzayko had said, she would call Meiyerditch Hallowvale because that's what she was used to it being called. She would look for people who didn't exist because she somehow recalled Icyene she had once lived with. That also explained her lack of interest in blood and her concern for the humans. Vanstrom had always made a side note to avoid her whenever possible.  
Vyci simply threw a final shrug at her Vyrewatch friend and left, heading in Vanstrom's direction. She stopped as she noticed him. "Oh, hello there… Vanstrom." She didn't wait for a return greeting. She simply greeted him and then continued to leave. Vanstrom didn't fail to notice, however, how long it took her to remember his name. Typical.  
"Good morning, Vanstrom." called Vzayko. Vanstrom had to wonder if it was really still morning. It was so difficult to tell in the eternally blackened lands of Morytania. Sometimes he wondered if people were just guessing the time of day. Not that it mattered to him whether it was morning, afternoon, or evening. He would do whatever he wanted regardless of the time of day and that wasn't just him either. Other Vampyres acted whenever they wanted, caring not for the time of day.  
Despite how he didn't want to start a conversation with one of the Vyrewatch, Vanstrom still responded, "Hello Vzayko." with a slight grumble in his voice. He approached the Vyrewatch, hoping he could convince him to step aside as soon as possible.  
Vzayko took one glance at the unconscious guard thrown over Vanstrom's shoulder and quickly inquired, "So, what happened to him?"  
"He was attacked." Vanstrom answered bluntly, not wanting to give out too much information in case someone started wondering about where Vanstrom had been. He knew that if he mentioned Canifis, the Slayer Tower, or Werewolves that someone would start asking him why he had been so far away from Darkmeyer to begin with and he really didn't need anyone nosing through his private business. Not right now, anyways.  
Vzayko was apparently oblivious to how blunt Vanstrom had been in his response. "Let me guess, it was those damn Myreque again. They think they're so tough, especially that group holed up in Meiyerditch. They think they're amazing just because their leader is half Icyene."  
Vanstrom realized this was the perfect opportunity to remove any suspicion from what he had been up to and thus he quickly agreed with Vzayko by responding, "Yes, it was the Myreque again. I managed to chase them back into their hole, though. I get just as tired of seeing them as anyone else does. Alas, what can we do about them?"  
"Nothing yet." answered Vzayko, who didn't appear to realize how amazing it was that he was even getting a conversation out of Vanstrom to begin with. Whether he was busy plotting or simply idle, Vanstrom rarely spoke to anyone, especially someone below him. "I can't wait for the day we show those Myreque who rules Morytania. It will be quite the day."  
"Indeed." Vanstrom agreed calmly, hoping that if he swiftly agreed with everything Vzayko said he would grow bored of the conversation and leave, allowing Vanstrom to continue on with his business. He wouldn't say it out loud, but he really wanted to get home.  
Whether Vzayko caught the hint that Vanstrom was busy or he simply grew bored of the conversation as well, Vanstrom would never know. Nonetheless, he was happy when Vzayko said, "Well, I can see you've got to tend to your friend here, so I won't hold you up any longer. I wish your friend good luck. May Zamorak be with him."  
Vanstrom stepped aside as Vzayko left, leaving in the same direction Vanstrom had come from initially. Normally he wouldn't make room for anyone, but with his desire to simply finish what he was doing and return to more pressing matters, he was willing to push his honor aside for a moment and allow Vzayko to pass. Anyways, the quicker he got rid of that pesky Vampyre was the faster he could get his task finished. As soon as Vzayko was out of sight, Vanstrom turned around and headed down the hallway which he had been originally trying to go down.  
It didn't take much longer for Vanstrom to arrive in the room he had been initially heading towards. A couple more turns and he found himself standing in the doorway to what was a makeshift clinic, so to say. Vampyres rarely were harmed, but on the rare occasion one did sustain an injury they couldn't handle, this was where they ended up. Vanstrom would probably never live down that he was forced to bring his guard here, but there was nothing else he could do about it at the moment.  
As Vanstrom entered the room, he noticed there was only two other people in the room. One was a Vyrewatch that appeared to be missing one of his wings and the other was nothing more then a Juvenile, who appeared to be breathing weakly. Vanstrom completely ignored the Juvenile and approached the Vyrewatch quickly, caring not for who he was, but only if he could manage his guard. "Ahem!" Vanstrom coughed purposefully, attempting to get the attention of the Vampyre.  
Whoever this Vampyre was, he turned around upon hearing the subtle coughing sound behind him, turning his attention away from the Juvenile he had been tending to and over to Vanstrom. "How interesting to see you down here, Vanstrom." greeted the Vampyre. "What can I help you with?"  
Vanstrom wondered whether the Vampyre was blind or if it was just an involuntary question that he asked anyone who entered this room. "Well, as you can see, my guard has been horribly injured. I'd rather not go into details." Details meant something for them to wonder about and a rising suspicion was something Vanstrom needed to avoid at this point. "At this point, I just need someone to help him along and that's all. Nothing more."  
"Well, sit him down on the table over here and we'll see if we can't help him." responded the Vyrewatch, guiding Vanstrom to an empty table across the room from the Juvenile. Something, Vanstrom found himself pleased that his guard was not going to be placed anywhere near that inferior Juvenile. Vanstrom absolutely loathed the younger generation of Vampyres, finding them to be a waste of space at best.  
Vanstrom did as the Vyrewatch wanted him to, carefully placing his guard upon the table which the Vyrewatch had guided him too. He felt relieved to no longer be carrying his guard around. It felt like a heavy burden had been lifted off his shoulders as he placed the guard upon the table. He laid the guard on his back with the utmost caution, making certain not to cause any further injury to someone who had suffered far enough.  
The Vyrewatch gasped at the severity of the injury on the guard's chest. Never before had he seen a Vampyre so horribly mauled like such. "This is absolutely horrible!" the Vampyre commented in astonishment, feeling a little uneasy at the sight of a Vampyre being so horribly injured. "If you won't mind me asking, who or what did this to him."  
Vanstrom almost answered Werewolf, which was true. However, not only did it make his guard look weak-not that you look strong being bested by a human either-it would also raise some suspicion s to why Vanstrom had wandered all the way out to Canifis. Once people started noticing Shadow was gone, anyone who was out near Canifis would appear suspicious. "One of the Myreque attacked us with those damn flails of theirs. My guard attempted to defend me, but he was seriously outnumbered." All lies, of course, but then again, the Vyrewatch didn't need to know that this was all a lie.  
"I can hardly believe that a Vampyre would be so horribly injured by a human." the Vyrewatch commented. For a moment, Vanstrom was worried that he had been caught in his little lie. However, the Vyrewatch continued speaking and eased Vanstrom's burden by saying, "It's horrible how much those Myreque are learning about our kind. If they can harm a Vampyre this badly, only imagine what they could be capable of one day. I'd hate to think about it. I certainly hope we can clear them out before they become too intelligent for their own good."  
Vanstrom sighed inwardly, glad that the Vyrewatch had accepted his explanation about his guard being attacked by the Myreque. "Oh I do agree." Vanstrom said, finishing his inward sigh of relief. "Those Myreque must be dealt with. That, however, is a conversation for a future date. For now, you should just manage my guard."  
"Of course, Vanstrom." the Vyrewatch replied, leaning his hands on the table which the guard was sitting on. "I'll keep a good watch over him. If I can speed up the healing process, he should be fine in a few days. He got off better then my other patient did."  
Vanstrom didn't want to ask about the other Vampyre, for he could honestly care less about what happened. He knew, however, that not asking would be an insult to the Vyrewatch, for he seemed quite keen on speaking about it. "So, what happened to him?" Vanstrom asked unwillingly.  
"In general, the same thing that happened to your guard." The Vyrewatch responded. Vanstrom could tell that a long explanation was coming up, one he would be forced to listen to and act like he cared about. He could only hope it was an explanation on the short side. "He was attacked by the Myreque as well. Only, they didn't just injure him and run back to their hole in the ground. No, much worse. They dragged him down to their little hole in the ground and used him in their experiments. He only escaped by pure luck of the draw. By the time he reached Darkmeyer, he was completely exhausted of energy. He collapsed on the steps right in front of the castle guards. The castle guards brought him to me. He's been here for about a week now and he doesn't appear to be improving at all. It worries me, but there isn't much more I can do to help. Every day I worry about him, wondering if he'll improve. His breathing is weak, however, and he doesn't appear inclined to move. I worry we may lose another Vampyre at a young age."  
Pretending like he cared, Vanstrom put on his best concerned face and responded, "Oh that would be most horrible."  
The Vyrewatch nodded in agreement at Vanstrom, then said, "Indeed it would be. I'm trying my best, but I fear he is simply beyond help. He's so young… There isn't much I can do to help. Not at his age, anyways. This isn't just some external injury. This is internal too. I'm little help with internal injuries."  
Continuing to put on the false expression that he gave a crap, Vanstrom replied, "Well, let's hope that you can help him. We'd hate to lose a young Vampyre, wouldn't we?"  
Glancing over at his other patient, the Vyrewatch nodded once more. He was probably thinking about all he had done to help and wondering if there was any other way he could be of assistance. "Yeah… Well, thank you for your concern, but it helps little. You best just leave me to my work."  
Vanstrom, inwardly glad that the Vyrewatch wanted to be alone in his work, made haste to leave the room. "Naturally. I'll just be leaving now. I've got other matters to attend to anyways. You know us nobles, very busy." The Vyrewatch nodded silently as Vanstrom departed the room, turning to the guard to begin working on him. Vanstrom fled from the room as quickly as physically possible, not wanting to become part of another conversation, though he doubted that was likely to happen. He slowed down eventually, realizing there was really no hurry in returning to his home.  
He passed back through the halls of Castle Drakan, only stopping once to fetch himself a drink, which he quickly chugged down. Vanstrom couldn't imagine why he was in such an all fire hurry, but he was. Several times did he speed up in his walking, then slow down, wondering why he was moving so quickly. It took him longer to leave the castle then it did to enter it, only because he had taken a different path to stop at the feeding hall to get something to drink. Soon he found himself at the main doors to Castle Drakan, facing the inside guards quietly.  
The two guards made no comment as Vanstrom approached them, probably afraid they would get hostility as a response like they had so many times before. They couldn't understand what Vanstrom's issue was, but they knew not to think too much about it. The two guards moved their weapons aside and opened the doors for Vanstrom, who swiftly passed through them.  
The outside guards remained equally as silent as Vanstrom passed them, for they too knew better then to attempt to greet Vanstrom once again. They simply moved their weapons aside and allowed Vanstrom to pass. They said nothing, made no motion towards Vanstrom, and didn't even look at him as he passed through the threshold out of the castle. Once he was outside completely, they pushed the grand double doors closed.  
Vanstrom arrived home in no time at all, for his house was quite close to Castle Drakan to begin with. That had, naturally, been done on purpose as to show how much better Vanstrom was then the rest of the Vampyres. Vanstrom paused in front of his house, wondering how his other guard had fared at managing Shadow. He knew inwardly that there was only one way to find out and after heaving a grand sigh, he headed into his humble abode.  
As soon as Vanstrom entered his house, he was greeted by the bulging mass that was Harold. Harold attempted dog-like motions towards Vanstrom, trying to wag a tail he didn't have. Vanstrom got down on one knee, scratching underneath Harold's chin, or what would've been a chin did the creature have a normal head. After getting the attention he wanted from Vanstrom, Harold swiftly rushed across the house, finding comfort next to the guard who was sitting silently on the chair next to the fireplace.  
"Greetings Lord Vanstrom." the guard remarked to Vanstrom in the utmost friendly tone as he noticed him standing in the doorway.  
"How did you fare with the burden?" Vanstrom immediately asked his guard, wanting to know for certain that Shadow was contained down in his dungeon.  
"Everything went fine." the guard answered, rising to his feet in case Vanstrom wanted his chair back, which he didn't seem to want to. "Shadow did attempt to escape when I untied her, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. Now she sits down in the dungeon, locked up tight. I've just been up here reading through your book collection and watching Harold." Looking down upon the bulging mass laying beside him, the guard commented, "Harold certainly is an interesting creature."  
Vanstrom was moments from responding when he heard a rapping at the window. Glancing to the side, Vanstrom noticed at all white bat standing on his window sill, a parchment strapped to his back. The creature lifted a foot and once more ran it across Vanstrom's window, attempting to get the noble Vampyre's attention. Vanstrom recognized the albino bat anywhere, knowing that the only person who owned an albino bat was Lord Drakan. Wondering what his lord could possibly want, he went to open the window for the bat.  
The little creature hopped inside Vanstrom's house as he opened the window. The bat turned around, waiting patiently for Vanstrom to take the parchment attached to him. The moment the paper was no longer strapped to the little bat's back, the creature flew away, leaving Vanstrom to wonder what Lord Drakan could want by himself.  
Glancing over at Vanstrom, his guard cautiously asked, "Wasn't that Lord Drakan's bat?" Vanstrom made no answer, but the guard figured he was correct nonetheless. "I wonder what exactly Lord Drakan could want of you."  
Vanstrom sat in his chair, earning himself a curious glance from Harold. The guard swiftly ducked behind the chair, leaning against it as Vanstrom went to read the parchment. He unfurled it, his eyes darting across the text as he read what was written in a messy cursive.

_To Vanstrom Klause:  
I will be holding a little party as the castle tomorrow. We haven't gathered all the nobles together in quite some while, so I figured now would be as good of a time as any. As a Vampyre of noble standing, you are naturally invited to my party. It will start when the moon is full. You had best be there. Though I know you, you will probably be the first to arrive. Just don't cause a commotion like last time, if you will. I really don't need to deal with that. There will be plenty of bloodwine available to drink, if that entices you at all. Well, I hope to see you there._

Deep in the blood,  
Lord Drakan

Vanstrom couldn't help but smirk as he read over the letter. It was short, but concise and to the point. "So, Lord Drakan's throwing another one of his little parties, if he? This will be an interesting event." He knew that Lord Drakan would attempt to invite Shadow as well, who would be far too busy rotting in Vanstrom's dungeon to be able to attend the party. Therefore, this would be the time when everyone noticed that Shadow was missing. "I look forward to it. Guard, you will watch Shadow when I attend this event. I figure you should be able to handle something as simple as such.  
"Can do, sir." answered the guard, quickly attempting to pretend like he hadn't been hovering over Vanstrom's shoulder reading the letter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: A Little Party ****  
****Who's guilty?**

Vanstrom spent the rest of the night reading through one of his old volumes. It was a rather dull thing to do and sometimes Vanstrom would find himself gazing upwards questionably, wondering if there was something more productive he could be doing. He knew, however, there was not. As well as he knew that he would be expected at Lord Drakan's little party the next day. He knew all the nobles would be there; Malak, Solomon Lamescus, Ranis, Vanescula… but there was also one little issue that wracked Vanstrom's mind every time he thought about it.  
Lady Shadow would be expected to be there as well, showing her status as a noble Vampyre. When she didn't show up, that would certainly wrack some questions. Lord Drakan would wonder where she was and what happened to her after he sent her to Canifis to meet with Malak. Of course, Malak would erase any question of her leaving Canifis. However, Vanstrom had spent much of the night thinking about how he could counteract that little problem and he already had come up with the perfect solution.  
Harold yawned awkwardly, looking up upon his master and wondering what would be to come next. The bizarre creature found itself hungry and the guard who awaited quietly nearby was beginning to perk his taste buds ever so slightly. Be it not for Vanstrom's presence in the room, Harold would've already eaten the guard.  
Placing his book upon a nearby table, Vanstrom rose from his seat, realizing the party would begin in an hour and he wasn't exactly prepared for such an event. However, Vanstrom thought, what would be need to do? Vanstrom didn't have fancy dress clothing for such events. He always walked about in the same outfit. Lord Drakan had numerously offered up his tailor, suggesting that Vanstrom make something for himself. The tailor had even visited Vanstrom's house, prepared with drawing of ideas for Vanstrom's dress clothing. However, Harold had scared the tailor off before he could proceed. That wasn't Vanstrom's command, though he would've done so regardless. Harold had acted on his own regard.  
Vanstrom reached into the bookcase, grabbing hold of a specific volume and looking upon its cover silently for a few moments. He then opened the book, revealing the button hidden within. It was the same book the guard had grabbed, the same one which would open the secret passage to his dungeon, be it Vanstrom ever pressed the button. Part of his yearned to go down into the deepest reaches of the dungeon, to go if only to taunt Shadow of her loss. Yet, he found himself stopping, not pressing the button. Why shouldn't Vanstrom torment Shadow? It wasn't as though she deserved anything less.  
Deciding it would lighten his mood to confirm how miserable Shadow was, Vanstrom pressed down on the button hidden within the confines of the book. With a shiver and a creak, the secret passage to the dungeon revealed itself. Vanstrom glanced over his shoulder, watching as his guard stepped idly back from the passage. Very well, thought Vanstrom, I'll simply go by myself. Vanstrom didn't need his guard following him every step of the way anyways.  
Even within the deep reaches of Vanstrom's dungeon, Shadow could hear all she needed to. She could hear Vanstrom opening the passage to the dungeon, as well as she could hear footsteps on the stairwell. It shook her out of her half sleep. Vanstrom was coming down, for what reason, she couldn't confirm. She imagined she had been down in the dungeon for an entire night now, bound to the wall and gagged as though she had acted disobediently. She shivered, not from cold, for the chill of the dungeon nor the blackness surrounding it didn't bother her. She shivered because she knew Vanstrom was coming for her. What he would do would be the reaches of his imagination.  
Shadow lowered her head as she listened to Vanstrom's footsteps echoing off the stone walls of the dungeon. She didn't want to look him in the eye when he inevitably stopped in front of her cell. The vibrant sound of Vanstrom's footsteps grew louder as he drew closer, but eventually they stopped, signaling that Vanstrom had reached her cell. Nonetheless, Shadow dared not look up.  
"Good morning, Lady Shadow." Vanstrom chimed, putting a spiteful emphasis on her title. "Are you enjoying your stay in the dungeon?"  
Attempting to ignore Vanstrom and his snide attempts to get a rise out of her, Shadow shifted slightly where she sat, the bright red chains rattling as she moved. Shadow kept her head held low even as she shifted nervously, knowing that looking Vanstrom in the eye would send a fit of rage down her spine.  
Vanstrom smirked when Shadow failed to respond to him. He could quite clearly tell she was attempting to ignore him. He knew it and yet he simply wanted to chastise her further, to see if he could get a rise from her. If he could get a rise from her, it would make his day all the better. "What, you aren't going to answer me? You know it's very rude to ignore your host, and such a good host I was too. Why, I gave you the best conditions I could think of. This is my very best cell in my dungeon." He tilted his head ever so slightly to the side as Shadow continued to ignore his commentary.  
Nothing he could say would cause Shadow to react to him. Nothing, she imagined. Shadow figured that as long as she ignored him, she would be fine. Sure, it wouldn't change the fact that she was locked in his dungeon, but to know she denied Vanstrom the chance to revel in her anger would make her all the happier. There was nothing he could say. She remained ever so silent.  
"Well, then, don't react, but listen to me, if you will." Vanstrom commented calmly and Shadow almost found herself peering up at him. Her eyes rapidly darted back to the dungeon floor. She couldn't look at him. It would only make her anger that much more difficult to control. "Today, Lord Drakan is throwing a party. All of the highest ranking nobles will be there. Ranis, Vanescula… you were supposed to go too. Of course, you won't be able to make it. Naturally, when you don't arrive, it will raise suspicion as to where you are. I have a plan for such overreaction. I'm simply going to blame those you care about, and it will work. How does it make you feel to know that your friends will be to blame for something they had no part in?"  
Shadow snarled slightly, finding her fury at its boiling point. It could boil all it wanted, though, as long as it didn't spill over the edge. She turned her head to the side, attempting to shake Vanstrom's vicious words out of her head.  
Vanstrom didn't feel at all that he was failing to anger Shadow. In fact, he took note of how she bit down hatefully on her gag. He was slowly winning and he knew it. "Lord Drakan will think you ran away with your little friends. You ran away from your duty as a Vyrelady, Lady Shadow." Once more, Vanstrom hissed her title, making certain Shadow could hear the mockery in his voice. "So tell me, Shadow, how will it feel to have failed your leading lord?"  
Every word Vanstrom spoke was like poison lacing gracefully over his tongue and each word stung with a viper's bite. Finally, Shadow looked directly up at Vanstrom, coming to the infuriating sight of his smile. She jerked forward, attempting to snap the chains she was bound it. The chains rattled loudly as the rings bumped against one another. Shadow attempted to scream vulgarities at Vanstrom, to remind him of how wrong he was. However, just as the chains failed to snap under her pressure, the gag failed to allow any words to be released. All that was heard was muffled nonsense.  
This was what Vanstrom had been waiting for. He knew she would eventually fall victim to his precisely placed trap and just like a foolish bear steps into the jaws of a bear trap, she too fell right into his trap. "What? I'm sorry, but I don't believe I can hear you. You'll have to speak up."  
That served to infuriate Shadow even further. She attempted to lash out viciously, wishing to tear Vanstrom's tongue from his mouth and feed it to the hungry rats. Unfortunately, the weakness in her body and the strength of the chains refused to allow her to so much as approach Vanstrom. She screamed and howled at Vanstrom, but all to no avail. His day already feeling more cheerful and his spirits risen by Shadow's fury, Vanstrom laughed mockingly at the furious young Vampyre. As Shadow screamed at him and struggled fitfully in the chains, Vanstrom turned on his heel and departed, having achieved what he had come down to the dungeon to do.  
Vanstrom reached the top of the stairwell, the door to the dungeon closing shut behind him. He glanced over as he heard a vibrant knocking on the door. Harold peered up questionably, throwing an uncertain glance at his master as he wondered whether or not he should go to meet the unknown visitor. Vanstrom then turned his gaze to his guard, who shrugged uncertainly.  
"Who in the name of Zamorak…?" Vanstrom hissed, trailing to the window and throwing a glance out it. Standing outside, waiting patiently near the door was none other then Lord Drakan's tailor. Vanstrom groaned loudly. "Oh gracious not him again. I told him a thousand times that I wasn't wearing his crap. Come, Harold, we have a visitor to greet."  
Harold perked up at the sound of his name, wondering what his master could need him for this time. Before Vanstrom could make it to the door, Harold scrambled past him, waiting at the door.  
Vanstrom pulled open the door, glaring hatefully at the young Vampyre tailor as he stood cheerfully in the doorway. "Good morning, Vanstrom Klause." the tailor greeted and unhappy Vanstrom. "I thought I could help you prepare for Lord Drakan's party." The tailor took a nervous step back as Harold approached him. He peered at the creature uncertainly, wondering what it was going to do.  
Completely ignoring the tailor, Vanstrom walked right past him, acting as though he wasn't even standing in the doorway. He turned back and for a moment the tailor though he was turning to face him. However, Vanstrom looked straight past him and threw his glance instead to the guard. "You, you will watch my house and everything in it while I am gone. Do you understand me?"  
The guard knew immediately that Vanstrom's comment translated to watching Shadow and making certain she was as miserable as possible. Of course, he said nothing to confirm such, for he didn't want to tailor to hear. Instead he simply agreed, "Can do, Vanstrom." He purposely kept out the title, for nobody except Vanstrom, his guards, and a few other random people knew that Vanstrom had his guards label him as a lord. Far as anyone was concerned, Vanstron simply existed.  
Vanstrom continued to ignore the tailor as he closed the door to his house behind him, leaving Harold unhappily on the other side. Harold looked upwards at the door hopefully, but Vanstrom failed to return for his malformed pet. Realizing that Vanstrom wasn't going to come back for some time, Harold wandered back beside the guard, sniffing heavily. He then laid down next to the guard.  
"Can't I help you…?" the tailor began to ask Vanstrom as he purposefully wandered past him, ignoring the young Vampyre.  
"Go bother someone else you insolent little twit." Vanstrom answered before the tailor could finish his sentence. "I've been wearing this red cloak for as long as I can remember and I have no intention of taking it off." The tailor lowered his head unhappily as Vanstrom ignored him. Even though he now realized that Vanstrom wasn't going to allow him to do anything to him, it still left the tailor feeling down. Giving up, the tailor turned and departed the opposite direction which Vanstrom had gone.  
It didn't take much walking for Vanstrom to arrive at Castle Drakan once more. It was only yesterday that he had been to the castle, yet it felt like so much longer. The outside guards strayed their attention elsewhere when they spotted Vanstrom, recalling from the previous day where their friendly remarks had gotten then. When Vanstrom approached the door, they obediently opened it for the Vampyre noble and said absolutely nothing to him. Vanstrom found himself quite pleased that they were keeping to themselves. He realized just how much he must have startled them the previous day and knew in his heart that they had learned from experience just to keep to themselves around him.  
Vanstrom passed quietly through the halls of the castle, moving with a purposeful skip in his step. He kept moving at a decent speed, a speed which any human would find difficult to maintain. He passed many other Vampyre of all different ages. He even found himself unlucky enough as the pass by a Werewolf while in the castle. He found himself spitting hatefully at the sight of a Werewolf in the castle. He knew Lord Drakan used them as servants for his own purpose, but why he chose Werewolves was beyond him. Nonetheless, Vanstrom continued through the halls of the castle, ignoring anyone which he passed with an ignorant bliss. He finally arrived at the doors to the dining hall, a hall which Lord Drakan rarely used. It was only ever opened up for his parties and once those ended, Lord Drakan would simply close it up again. Two purple winged Vyrewatch guards stood at the door. Vanstrom didn't recognize either of them, but that didn't surprise him, for he didn't waste time learning the names of the Vyrewatch. There was simply too many to bother doing so.  
"Welcome, Vanstrom." greeted the guard on the right hand side. She spoke a trifle nervously and Vanstrom realized that his presence must be frightening to her. He reveled in it, however, for he liked to know that he scared even the other Vyrewatch.  
Vanstrom approached the two guards, realizing that as he drew closer to them they were both female. They were also both dressed in old Vyrewatch attire, which confused Vanstrom quite masterfully. "Your welcomes are not desired. Simply keep your mouths shut and open the door for a Vampyre noble when you see him."  
As usual, Vanstrom was being highly unfriendly, something he did rather well. The guards heaved harmonious sighs and shared a glance or two with one another. "Of course, Vanstrom." the other guard sighed dejectedly, realizing that their friendliness would get them nowhere with a black hearted creature like Vanstrom.  
Vanstrom entered the room quietly, stopping in the main entry way as the doors slammed shut behind him. A long table was set up, as usual. There weren't any plates or silverware set out, for Vampyres didn't eat human food. Instead there was simply a glass at every seat, and from the smell of it, Vanstrom could sense each glass was filled with high quality blood. Vanstrom found himself drowned in the scent of blood and he reveled in it, for it was a scent which brought him great joy.  
Sitting at the head of the table was Lord Drakan, who was still dressed in the same attire he had been when Lady Shadow had met with him. He appeared to be tapping the table impatiently, attempting to distract his mind while he waited for his guests to arrive. Vanstrom couldn't help but tilt his head ever so slightly to the side, interested in the new attire which Lord Drakan was donning. Upon hearing the doors creak open, then closed again, Lord Drakan glanced up, his vicious red eyes locking in on Vanstrom and most importantly, staring him right in the eye.  
"Welcome to my party, Vanstrom. As usual, you're the first to arrive." Lord Drakan greeted Vanstrom and unlike with most others, who he completely ignored friendly greetings from, he smiled at Lord Drakan, knowing to decline his greeting would be to sign your own death warrant. "Come, take a seat. I made my servant, Dmitri set up the cards."  
First, Vanstrom glanced across the room, where an uncertain man stood nervously, trying not to look Vanstrom in the eye. From the scent, Vanstrom could tell Dmitri was a Werewolf, which seemed rather normal for Lord Drakan. He inwardly wished the Werewolf would leave, but he knew there was nothing he could say to cause such an event to occur.  
Upon closer inspection of the table, Vanstrom noticed there were indeed cards set up with each of the invited Vampyre's names on them. He paused for a moment to observe where Lord Drakan was seating his fellow Vampyres this time. Naturally, he found himself sitting up front, his card placed just off the right of where Lord Drakan was sitting. Across from his was Lady Vanescula's name, and beside him was Ranis. He glowered as he caught sight of Shadow's name, which was placed beside Lady Vanescula's card. He found himself laughing inwardly at such poor placement of the cards. Vanescula and Shadow didn't get along very well and he could only imagine what would've happened should Shadow arrive and see she was sitting next to Vanescula. Of course, Vanstrom knew Shadow would never arrive. Malak was placed on the other side of Shadow and across from him was that vile monster Dessous. Vanstrom still couldn't believe Lord Drakan invited Dessous to his parties, however, there was nothing he could do about it.  
Vanstrom delicately took his seat where his card was placed, reaching forward and gently folding the card forward once he was seated. He leaned his elbows on the table, something which he knew he could get away with at Lord Drakan's party. "So let me guess, your tailor happened." Vanstrom began conversation with Lord Drakan.  
Realizing his clothes were being taunted, Lord Drakan lowered his head in embarrassment. He then looked back up at Vanstrom and responded, "You would guess right, Vanstrom. My tailor finds it very amusing to dress me up in these ridiculous outfits. I heard he was going after you. What happened?"  
"Oh your tailor most certainly arrived at my house, no doubt trying to goad me into wearing something as ridiculous as what you're wearing." Vanstrom responded, wondering where the tailor had gone when he had been denied. Eventually, though, Vanstrom realized he didn't care. "I, however, had the audacity to tell him what I think of his clothing and leave."  
Lord Drakan heaved an irritated sigh, knowing that Vanstrom had him beaten in one area. Lord Drakan found it impossible to deny his tailor, no matter how many idiotic outfit's the young Vampyre put him through. He knew there was nothing he could say or do that would change that either. "Yes, well, it seems I have the inability to deny my tailor."  
Vanstrom tilted his head to the side, finding it difficult to believe that Lord Drakan was incapable of telling his tailor no. "It really isn't that difficult. Simply tell him you've been wearing the same clothes for hundreds of year and that you have no intention of taking them off."  
"I never thought of that. It's so simple, yet it may actually work." Lord Drakan mused, running his hand through his hair, which had been well-taken care of. "Sometimes I wonder where I would be without your advice, Vanstrom."  
"Who knows, my Lord, who knows." Vanstrom responded kindly, taking the moment of awkward silence to take a sip from the glass of blood which sat in front of him. "I've been giving you my advice for hundreds of years, yet you ruled just fine without it. You're an intelligent man, my lord. There is no doubt about that." Vanstrom took another sip of his blood, to stop himself before he said something that sounded highly ridiculous. He licked his lips as he sat the glass down, eyeing Lord Drakan questionably.  
An awkward silence fell over the two Vampyres as neither had anything constructive to say to the other. Vanstrom observed as Lord Drakan opened his mouth to speak, only to close it before any words could come out. Soon the two of them were just staring awkwardly at one another, waiting for the other to start any conversation so the silence would be broken. Many times did Vanstrom take a drink from his glass of blood in hopes of Lord Drakan saying something, which he failed to do. Eventually, Vanstrom reached down to take a drink from his blood only to find that in the awkward situation he had fallen into, he had anxiously drank every last drop of blood inside the glass. He sat the glass down loudly on the table, trying to hide his frustration. For a couple more moment, no words were spoken between the two of them, then Vanstrom eventually broke the silence.  
Vanstrom picked up the empty glass in his hand, lifting it up for Lord Drakan to see. He then inquired, "Is there any chance of getting a refill on this?"  
Lord Drakan laughed vibrantly at Vanstrom's uncertain question. "You emptied your glass already?" Vanstrom nodded silently. "You never cease to amuse me, Vanstrom. Dmitri, refill Vanstrom's glass, will you?"  
Vanstrom glared darkly as the Werewolf rose from his spot, approaching Vanstrom very slowly with a pitcher in his hand. Dmitri found himself highly frightened of Vanstrom and he badly didn't want to have to near the darkly Vampyre. Nonetheless, he approached Vanstrom, even if done so slowly. He then quickly poured more lustrous blood into Vanstrom glass, backing away fearfully as soon as the deed was done. Vanstrom could see the relief in the Werewolf's eyes as he returned to his corner.  
"You frighten Dmitri." Lord Drakan observed kindly, taking a moment to glance over at his Werewolf servant.  
"I apologize for that, Lord Drakan. I didn't mean to frighten him." Vanstrom replied innocently, though he knew inwardly that those were exactly his intentions. He wanted that insolent dog to be afraid of him. Fear meant he would be ever so obedient. Obedience was the key to ruling.  
Lord Drakan, however, shook his head, throwing a smile at Vanstrom, which was rare for the Vampyre lord of Morytania to do. "Oh, don't worry about it, Vanstrom. I don't mind if you frighten him. He's nothing more then a worthless Werewolf, after all. He needs to be reminded of his place every once in a while. He is just a servant." Vanstrom threw a victorious smirk at the Werewolf servant, who clenched his teeth and turned his head away, realizing that he was losing.  
Vanstrom was moments from speaking when the door opened up, Ranis and Vanescula entering side by side. Vanstrom couldn't help but grimace at the sight of them. They were the only two things in the way of him being Lord Drakan's second in command. Vanstrom was only fourth in command. Ranis was third in command and Vanescula was second. He narrowed his eyes at the two Vampyres, trying not to reveal to Lord Drakan the obvious rivalry which the group shared with one another.  
Ignoring Vanstrom, Lord Drakan called to Ranis and Vanescula, "Welcome, Ranis and Lady Vanescula." Vanstrom noticed the dejected look on Ranis' face as he was denied a title. Vanstrom somehow felt pity for Ranis, knowing the feeling quite well. He didn't have a title either. Sometimes people would give Ranis the title sir, as Vanstrom had come to know, but that was quite rare. Usually, he was just Ranis, just as Vanstrom was only Vanstrom. "It's so wonderful to see you here."  
"I hope we're not late, Lord Drakan." Vanescula said cheerfully, guiding her brother across the room as though he were a lost little child. "I had to wait for Ranis to finish preparing. He spends more time on his hair then I do. It's ridiculous."  
Lord Drakan laughed aloud, something Vanstrom decided against doing. "I certainly know the feeling. I spend far too much time on my hair too. It's funny how things like that work." When neither Ranis nor Vanescula made any further comment, Lord Drakan added, "Why don't you take your seats? You're not late at all. Vanstrom was just early. We're still waiting for Malak, Dessous, and Shadow."  
Vanescula was first to take her seat, glancing across the table at Vanstrom. Vanstrom couldn't read the expression on her wicked face and a part of him was fearful of that. Vanescula was a highly mysterious Vampyre. It was probably safe to say that more was known about Lord Drakan himself then was known of his younger sister. Sometimes Vanstrom found himself unnerved by Vanescula. As she watched him, he turned his head aside, trying to ignore her blatant gaze.  
Ranis then took his seat next to Vanstrom, immediately groping from his glass of blood. He took a heavy gulp from it as he glanced between Vanstrom and Lord Drakan, ignoring his sister completely, for he wasn't amused by her presence. Vanstrom found himself glancing at Ranis at the same time the unlikely Vampyre glanced at him. Unlike with Vanescula's stare, Vanstrom gazed upon Ranis for a while, not daring to turn his gaze.  
Vanstrom somehow felt like the odd one out now. Ranis, Vanescula, and Lord Drakan were all siblings, family, a relationship which Vanstrom could not share. He held no family relationship to Lord Drakan, not as far as he knew, anyways.  
For a while the four Vampyres chatted to one another, taking occasional sips of blood between the chatter. Vanstrom eventually fell into line with Ranis and Vanescula, talking between the three Drakan siblings as though they were just three random people. They spoke about many things and there were many times when Vanescula's opinion was not as what the other three were. That didn't stop her, though. She unconsciously sipped at her blood as she listened to the three boys arguing with one another over her being wrong. They kept a conversation going for a long time while awaiting the arrival of the other welcomed Vampyres. Like with Ranis, Vanescula, and Vanstrom, when the others entered, Lord Drakan stopped all conversation to greet them. Soon both Malak and Dessous had arrived, the only seat left empty being Shadow's.  
Lord Drakan found himself gazing several times at Shadow's empty seat, wondering where she could be. "Lady Shadow hasn't arrived yet." he finally commented, breaking the conversation between him and Vanescula to make such a comment. The other Vampyres glanced up upon hearing Lord Drakan's comment, all eyes falling on Shadow's seat.  
"Lady Shadow is always late to your parties, my lord." Vanescula said, turning her gaze off Shadow's seat so she could look at Lord Drakan instead. It was always polite to look at the people you were speaking to. "You shouldn't worry about that."  
"She's probably tired from her trip back from Canifis." Malak added, all eyes falling upon him as he spoke up on Shadow's behalf. "It's a long trip across Morytania, even for a Vampyre. She's probably just falling behind because of exhaustion. Just you wait, she'll be here."  
Lord Drakan nodded at Malak, sharing a glance between Malak and Vanescula before he made any further commentary. "I do guess you're right. She'll be here. I'll simply wait until she arrives." He then turned back to Vanescula and fell back into conversation with her. The other Vampyres turned back to their companions to speak with one another.  
Vanstrom hid his smirk as people begun noticing that Shadow hadn't arrived yet. He absolutely loved their confidence. They seemed so certain Shadow would arrive in due time. Yes, it was true that Shadow was always late to these parties, but as Vanstrom had mentioned to her before, this would be one party which she wouldn't be arriving to. Shadow would be far too busy slowly rotting in Vanstrom's dungeon and that brought further amusement to him. He smiled slightly, which caught the attention of Ranis, who had previously been attempting to converse with him.  
Tilting his head to the side, Ranis inquired, "What are you smiling about, Vanstrom?" He canceled out his previous conversation to ask this of Vanstrom and for a moment, Vanstrom didn't even notice he was smiling.  
"Oh, it was just something funny I heard earlier today." Vanstrom lied in response, knowing inwardly that it was the pleasure of knowing for certain that Lady Shadow was trapped down in his dungeon, no way out for her. "I would tell you, but I'm not very good at setting up jokes."  
Ranis shrugged, and for a moment Vanstrom was worried the Vampyre noble wasn't going to believe what he said. However, Ranis eventually responded, "Alright then, whatever you say." He then began speaking of what him and Vanstrom had previously been speaking about and Vanstrom could feel the relief washing through him. He too fell back into normal conversation with Ranis.  
An hour passed as the Vampyres chatted one another up. It appeared that everyone had something to say to someone else. Vampyres were shifting from one another, speaking to each other about all kinds of different topics. Lord Drakan constantly threw uncertain glances at Shadow's chair and many times it took everything whoever was speaking with him could muster to get him to pay attention. Lord Drakan's constant glancing at Shadow's chair and the door gave away to Vanstrom that soon someone would have to speak out for Lady Shadow's location. The nearby clock chimed as the top of the hour was reached and Vanstrom noticed the concerned way Lord Drakan turned his eyes up to the clock and away from Vanstrom, who he was currently talking to.  
"Can I refill your glass, my lord?" Dmitri asked Lord Drakan, noticing that he had emptied his glass. However, Lord Drakan wasn't paying attention, for he was instead glancing up at the clock.  
Vanstrom nudged Lord Drakan forcefully. He didn't use enough force to knock Lord Drakan from his seat, but just enough to catch the Vampyre lord's attention. He glanced away from the clock, instead looking at Vanstrom. "Hmm?" he asked.  
Having Lord Drakan's attention, Vanstrom pointed innocently to Dmitri, who was patiently awaiting a response from Lord Drakan. "Can I refill your glass, my lord?" Dmitri repeated, holding up the pitcher of blood for Lord Drakan to see.  
"Oh, sorry. Of course. Go right ahead." Lord Drakan responded, holding up his glass as Dmitri poured more blood into it. The moment the Werewolf finished pouring the blood for Lord Drakan, the Vampyre lord brought the glass up to his lips, sipping playfully at the liquid inside. His eyes then immediately darted back to the clock, which he watched intensely. Vanstrom found himself astonished that Lord Drakan had bothered apologizing to the Werewolf. Why should it matter how long the Werewolf had to wait for a response? The Werewolf should be prepared to wait hours if he had to.  
Vanescula glanced quietly at Lord Drakan as he stared at the clock again, ignoring the conversation her, Malak, and Dessous had been holding. "Lord Drakan, is something the matter?" she asked, making her the first person to build up the nerve to ask him to obvious question.  
"I've waited an hour and Lady Shadow still hasn't arrived." Lord Drakan responded straightforwardly. It very unlike Lord Drakan to be so honest in his answer. Usually he beat around the bush, an avoidance strategy he used to avoid having to admit anything about himself. "I don't doubt Lady Shadow is a late person, however, this is insane. Doesn't anyone know where she is? It's unlike her to be this drastically late and not send a bat to explain why." He sat his glass of blood down on the table, turning to face the other Vampyres. "Does anyone know where she is?"  
"I haven't seen her since she left to Canifis." Vanescula admitted first, making herself the first one to respond to Lord Drakan's question.  
Ranis shook his head, denying that he knew anything about her whereabouts. "Sorry, I fall under the same area Vanescula does."  
Dessous leaned forward and a hopeful look entered Lord Drakan's eyes. Unfortunately, Dessous was not giving Lord Drakan the answer he was hoping for. "I sssssaw her when she was heading for Canifisssss. However, I have no ssssseen her since." Lord Drakan's head fell in depression when the third person to speak up knew nothing about Shadow's whereabouts either.  
"I saw her at Canifis, but I also saw her leaving Canifis." Malak admitted shamefully, wishing he could answer his leading lord better. "I haven't a clue what could have happened to her."  
With Vanstrom being the only person not to provide an answer, all eyes fell upon Vanstrom. Vanstrom, however, did not overreact at having everyone gaze at him. He remained as calm as could be, feigning an innocent expression as though he hadn't done anything wrong, which he knew in his mind he obviously had. "Vanstrom, do you know where Lady Shadow could be? You wander about Morytania often." Lord Drakan asked Vanstrom, leading on the false hope that Vanstrom's aimless wandering would mean he had the answer. Vanstrom knew it was true. He was well known for aimlessly wandering Morytania, going to all sorts of different places for reasons only he truly knew. It only made sense that Lord Drakan would assume he had the answer to Shadow's whereabouts. He knew not to overreact. He knew to remain calm. Vanstrom already had a plan, a plan which would play out now.  
Vanstrom glanced about the room, knowing that everyone was watching him, waiting to see if he would confirm Lady Shadow's whereabouts or give another uncertain answer. "Well, the other day I was out at Canifis when I saw Lady Shadow coming out of the Hair of the Dog Tavern. She headed towards Paterdomus, so naturally, I followed, wondering where she could be going. I saw her meeting with the Lance boy. The two of them crossed a weak area of the River Salve and left Morytania. I was going to stop her, my lord, but I thought you should know of this treachery first."  
"This is something you should have told me immediately upon entry, Vanstrom." Lord Drakan responded angrily, beating his fist down furious on the table. The wooden table cracked under the pressure of his fist, leaving a small hole where he head beaten down the table. The rest of the table shook, nearly knocking over the other glasses.  
Most of the other Vampyres jumped at Lord Drakan's fury, but Vanstrom remained calm, for he knew that Lord Drakan would react as such. In fact, he liked that Lord Drakan was reacting so poorly to such news. It meant he believed what Vanstrom said. It meant that Vanstrom's plan was proceeding wonderfully. Lance would take all the blame for Vanstrom's actions.  
Closing his eyes and turning his head ever so slightly to the side, Lord Drakan winced, not wanting to believe that Shadow could perform such treachery on him. However, he found that he wasn't angry at Shadow, but that he was furious at Lance. "Are you certain of what you saw, Vanstrom? I need to know that you are absolutely certain of what happened."  
Vanstrom nodded in an assuring fashion at Lord Drakan. "I know what I saw, my lord. Lady Shadow and Lance crossed the River Salve. They left Morytania. I was standing right there when it happened. My guards saw it too. They can confirm it, if you feel the need to confirm."  
"No, I believe you, Vanstrom." Lord Drakan responded, and Vanstrom expertly hid a smirk. His plan was working just as he had wanted it to. None would be the wiser that Vanstrom was actually to blame for Shadow's disappearance. Nobody had even seen Shadow. It was Vanstrom's word against those who had little expertise in this area. Vanstrom was winning. "I'm just rustled at this treachery. I don't blame…" He shook his head once more, shaking his previous sentence out of his mind. "I took away that kid's Vampyrism because he was not worthy of such a gift. However, that doesn't change that his loyalty should still lie with me. If he did perform such treachery, and I do believe he did, I want him to stand in front of me. I want him to either admit what he did with Shadow and return her to our homeland…"  
Lord Drakan's sentence died as he was forming it. Vanstrom, however, was interested to know what the ending of that sentence was, thus he leaned forward and plainly asked, "Well, my lord, what if Lance denies that he ever performed such treachery with Lady Shadow?"  
Lord Drakan once again banged his fist furiously upon the table. It wasn't as violent this time. No holes were punctured in the table, the glasses barely shook, and this time nobody was spooked by his reaction. "If that kid dare denies what he obviously did… If he dares to say to my face that he did nothing of the sort, he will rot in the dungeon for all eternity. I'll make certain he spends the rest of his days in misery. He'll learn never to cross me. He'll beg every night for death, but I won't give it to him." Eyes focused on Lord Drakan as he smiled, imagining what it would be like to imprison Lance so mercilessly. Vanstrom smiled too, for he found now was the only time he could smile and get away with it. "If Lance denies he treacherously removed Shadow from Morytania… you'll have a new human to torture, Vanstrom."  
"Wonderful." Vanstrom replied with a smirk. Vanstrom found that he couldn't wait for Lance to arrive. Of course, he wouldn't admit to taking Lady Shadow because he did nothing of the sort. However, it would be Lance's word against Vanstrom's and everyone would believe Vanstrom. There would be nothing Lance could do to save himself from being guilty.  
"Someone get me a parchment and a quill." Lord Drakan yelled loudly, rising from his seat. "Everyone leave! This party is over."  
The other Vampyres rose uncertainly from their seats, throwing concerned glances at Lord Drakan as they fled the room. Even Dmitri fled the room. In fact, the Werewolf servant was the first one out of the room, sneaking through a door he was standing by. One by one the Vampyres left the room. Vanescula, Ranis, Malak, and Dessous all departed. Vanstrom found himself being the last one to leave. He stopped at the door, glancing back into the room at Lord Drakan.  
Lord Drakan was standing by the door which Dmitri had fled out. He yanked the door open, screaming into the room, "Dmitri, get your pathetic rear end out here, now!" Vanstrom observed as Dmitri ran in a panic from the room, facing Lord Drakan despite the raw fury which he was releasing.  
"Yes, my lord?" Dmitri asked nervously. Vanstrom could sense the fear in his question and the doubt with which he asked with.  
After having caught Dmitri's attention, Lord Drakan furiously responded, "You are my servant. You will get me quill and parchment right now."  
"Can do, my lord!" Dmitri quickly agreed and ran across the room, running into another room and leaving Lord Drakan by himself.  
Right before Vanstrom was about to leave, Lord Drakan glanced his way. His expression was totally unreadable and Vanstrom couldn't tell if Lord Drakan was angry at Vanstrom for failing to leave when asked or if he was still feeling the raw fury of treachery. Either way, Vanstrom quickly departed, leaving Lord Drakan to his problems. Moments before Vanstrom departed, he heard Lord Drakan scream for someone to get his bat.  
Vanstrom quickly departed from Castle Drakan, leaving Lord Drakan behind to deal with what he had just learned. The entire way out of the castle, Vanstrom couldn't help but smirk at what he had told Lord Drakan. The Vampyric lord of Morytania had believed him so easily and Vanstrom could only imagine what would happen when Lance actually arrived. What would Lord Drakan write to him? So many thoughts writhed through Vanstrom's mind that it was phenomenal. As he wandered the halls, he could hear other Vampyres speaking of the treachery Lance had performed. It was amazing how fast news spread around the castle. How long before even those on the other side of Morytania heard of this news? Even as the guards pulled open the doors for Vanstrom to leave through, the same thoughts repeatedly swarmed through his mind.  
Soon Vanstrom arrived home. He pulled open the door to see his guard was still sitting in his special chair. Harold, however, was sleeping right in front of the secret entrance to the dungeon and that gave away to Vanstrom that the guard had probably gone down there at least once. Harold awoke at the sound of the door being opened and rose when he saw Vanstrom standing there. The malformed creature ran to greet his master, excitement dripping out all of his pores.  
"So, how did the party go?" Vanstrom's guard asked him as he entered the house, lowering the book which he had been so intensely reading.  
Upon being spoken to, Vanstrom turned his eyes away from Harold and instead over to his guard. "Oh, it went lovely. Everyone arrived except Shadow. When Lord Drakan asked where she was, I told him it was all Lance's fault. He believed every word I spoke too." Vanstrom smiled as he spoke, for he still found amusement in the chaos which he had caused. "Lord Drakan wishes to have Lance appear in front of him. As we speak, he is writing to the human now."  
"Then it went well?" the guard asked rhetorically, a question to which he earned a nod as a response. He went back to reading the book, figuring that Vanstrom was done speaking to him.  
Vanstrom wasted no time in going down to his dungeon. He couldn't wait to inform Shadow of what he had done at the party. It would make her day all the worse, which would make Vanstrom feel a thousand times better about himself.  
Once more Shadow could hear the sounds of Vanstrom descending into the dungeon. She groaned inwardly, wondering what exactly he could wish to tell her this time. Last time Vanstrom had spoken to her, she had let her anger get the better of her. She knew that this time she couldn't give Vanstrom such a solid victory. She sighed, pumping air out her nose instead of her mouth, since her mouth was gagged. Shadow then lowered her head, closing her eyes as she did so to make certain she didn't look at Vanstrom. She could hear his footsteps growing closer and she knew he was closing in on her. However, she continued to keep her eyes closed. Even in chains, she tried to relax her muscles as well.  
"Good afternoon, Lady Shadow." Vanstrom greeted, once again emphasizing his hatred for her title. She was no lady, thought Vanstrom. She didn't deserve such a title. "Perhaps you'd like to know how the party went."  
Not really, thought Lady Shadow. She hadn't been there and she could care less what Vanstrom had done during the party. No doubt he was going to gloat about himself or something amazing he had done. However, Shadow had no idea what he was about to say. She could have never guessed what would come out of his mouth next.  
"When I arrived at the party, Lord Drakan waited over an hour for you to arrive. Of course, you never came." Vanstrom began and Shadow already knew she didn't care. She didn't open her eyes, she didn't tense up. She simply kept her head held low and her eyes closed. "Lord Drakan was pretty upset that you never showed. However, not as upset as when I told him where you were. I told him you and Lance crossed the River Salve together, abandoned Morytania, just like I told you I would. I told him of the treachery that little rat of a human committed. Now? Now Lord Drakan furiously writes to Lance. Oh if only you could have seen how furious he was when I told him of such treachery." Vanstrom placed a single hand on a bar, wrapping his twisted fingers around the bar. "He wants Lance to stand trial in front of him and admit he took you, tell him where you are. Of course, Lance won't be able to tell him of such. You know what will happen? Lord Drakan says that if Lance doesn't admit his treachery, he will be locked down in the dungeon for all eternity, forced into a state of suffering and misery."  
Shadow felt her eyelids close more forcefully upon her and she listened to Vanstrom. She had never thought in her life that he would come up with such a devious plot. Vanstrom could sense every little motion she made, however, and even as she tried to remain calm, to prove to herself that she could stand up to Vanstrom, he could sense her weakening with every word that came out of his mouth.  
Vanstrom's grip grew tighter around the bar as he held it. He wanted Shadow to react to him. "You want to know what else Lord Drakan said, Shadow? He said that Lance would be mine to torture if he ended up in the dungeon, which we know he will."  
Shadow's eyes shot open as Vanstrom made his next statement. She didn't want to believe him. She wanted everything he said to be a lie. Yet, she had come to know Vanstrom very well and she knew that Vanstrom was in fact not lying. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she knew that Vanstrom was telling her the honest truth. Unwillingly, she looked up into his vicious red eyes.  
Quickly did Shadow turn her head away from Vanstrom, trying adamantly to hide the tears which were welling up in her eyes. When it came to Vanstrom, even his words could sting like a bee. She could only imagine what kind of physical torment he could apply to Lance. She didn't want Lance to be forced to endure Vanstrom's torture.  
"You try to hide it, Shadow, but I can see the wetness in your eyes." Vanstrom mocked, unwrapping his hand from around the bar. Shadow didn't watch, but could hear as Vanstrom unlocked the cell, stepping inside of it. "You're crying. You cry because you don't want Lance to be condemned. You care about him. That will make torturing him all the more fun for me." Vanstrom took a cautious step forward. "How do you feel about that?"  
Shadow suddenly lurched forward in her chains, hoping she could reach Vanstrom now that he had dared to enter her cell. The chains rattled loudly as they clacked together. Even with Vanstrom in the cell, she still found she was unable to reach him. Nonetheless, Shadow fought furiously to reach Vanstrom, so she could inflict the same pain upon him that he had inflicted to her. So she could make him feel miserable. Unfortunately, she was unable to do anything of the like.  
"You're pathetic, Shadow." Vanstrom taunted, watching with amusement as Shadow struggled in her chains to reach him. "You let your emotions get the better of you and you actually care for the likes of a pathetic, worthless human. You should find his misery amusing." Vanstrom turned around, closing and re-locking the door behind him. "You don't act like a Vampyre, Shadow, and that's why you'll never truly be one." He stopped, turning around to face her. He looked her straight in the eyes when he said, "Maybe Lord Drakan should take away your Vampyrism the same way he took away Lance's."  
Vanstrom laughed vibrantly as he left Shadow behind in her cell. Once again he had gotten a reaction out of Shadow and that's what he looked for. Nothing could make him feel happier then Shadow's misery. Making her miserable was what he did best. He left her struggling hopelessly in the chains and attempting to scream from a gag which would not allow a single word to escape.  
Finally, Vanstrom reached the top of the stairwell, the door to his dungeon closing behind him, hiding the fact that his dungeon ever even existed in the first place. Vanstrom couldn't wait until Lance stood trial before Lord Drakan. Telling Shadow about that would be one of the best moments in his life. He smirked at such a thought.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Morytania Beyond ****  
****Knights don't fall**

Lance was a knight dressed from head to toe in the greatest rune armor money could afford. The bright blue armor glistened off the sunlight beautifully. It even showed on his sword, which he was returning to the scabbard as he finished off a pesky unicorn. Lance swallowed as he looked down upon the horse-like creature's dead body. He didn't like to kill creatures as beautiful and innocent as a unicorn, but he knew there were times when he would have to do things he wouldn't like doing. Nonetheless, the unicorn had been drawing unnaturally close to Draynor Manor, which was far away from its natural habitat. If Lance hadn't killed it, those undead trees would have ripped it to shreds anyways. Better it get served a swift death by Lance's sword then to be torn mercilessly apart by those rotten trees.  
Just recently, Lance had returned from a long trip to the faraway city of Ardougne. He hadn't liked it there very much. People were always eyeing him with suspicion and he was fairly certain the castle's guards were plotting something for him deep within their minds. However, as a recruit for the white knights of Falador and a part time adventurer, Lance knew he would have to go many places where things probably weren't what they seemed.  
To be home was enough to make Lance happy. To see his friends would make him even happier. That was why he had ventured to the reclusive reaches of the mysterious mansion known only as Draynor Manor, called so because of its close proximity to Draynor Village and its inhabitant, the Vampyre Count Draynor. It might not have seemed like a likely friendship, but Lance had known Count Draynor for quite some time now and the two had gotten along better then they assumed they would. Lance may have been human, but somehow he fit in perfectly in the mansion.  
Standing behind Lance was a shiny black hellhound and a dark brown scorpion, two of the knight's unlikely friends.  
The hellhound was named Blitz and it technically belonged to Lance's close friend, Shadow. Blitz had been trapped by the Corporeal Beast and that had scared him quite a bit. The bizarre group of Shadow, Lance, and Lord Drakan had accidentally rescued him from where he had been trapped. Blitz technically belonged to Lady Shadow, as aforementioned, but Lord Drakan refused to allow the hellhound entry in his realm. So Blitz instead traveled with Lance. Lance often earned himself strange glances from the population and a number of selfless warriors had attacked the poor hellhound, thinking it was going to attack the population and they were only protecting innocent people.  
The scorpion was named Zeta and he was a rather unlikely soul too. Zeta could only be understood through an unknown artifact known as the Insect-Speak amulet, despite the fact that scorpions are in no way insects. Nonetheless, that factor makes it difficult for Zeta to exist among society and if it wasn't for the fact that Lance possessed such an artifact as the Insect-Speak amulet, there would be no possible way the duo could travel together.  
Off and on Lance would have other creatures following him, most of them Shadow's long list of pets that Lord Drakan refused to allow in Morytania. There were many of them, far too many for Lance to remember in his head. He didn't know where any of them were. They often came and went at their own leisure, traveling with Lance whenever they were in the mood to. It never occurred to Lance where they went when they weren't with him. He simply knew they were around somewhere and that they would appear when they were in the mood to travel far away with the knight.  
"Was killing the unicorn really necessary?" inquired Zeta, shaking his tail to shake off any debris as he spoke. "It didn't do anything wrong."  
Lance shook his head as to agree with Zeta. "No, it didn't do anything wrong so to say." Lance agreed silently. "However, it had done something foolish." Zeta tilted himself to the side, uncertain of what Lance meant. "The unicorn was wandering far too close to Draynor Manor. If I hadn't killed it, it would have been torn to shreds by the undead trees which somehow exist in the front yard."  
Zeta paused, throwing a glance over at Blitz, who seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he had just watched a unicorn being butchered. Natural. Blitz never cared what Lance killed. In fact, Zeta often imagined the devious hellhound enjoyed watching the deaths pile up. "So you were doing the unicorn a mercy?" Zeta rhetorically asked. "I guess that makes sense."  
"Come on, Zeta, Blitz. We're going to Draynor Manor to see Count Draynor." Lance called to his friends, turning his back on the deceased unicorn. Blitz perked up at the sound of Count Draynor's name, wagging his tail in excitement as though he were a little puppy and not a dangerous hellhound. Zeta and Blitz followed Lance as he headed for the manor. Lance, who was blissfully ignorant of the little albino bat that was perched on the fence, watching silently as Lance passed by. The creature flicked its wings and proceeded to follow Lance as he headed inside the mansion.  
Lance, Zeta, and Blitz entered the mansion together, the door slamming characteristically behind them. None of them jumped, for they were used to the slamming of the door. Besides, they knew there was a back door.  
Lance paused to look at the little bird perched on the stairwell. It was a raven and it stared at them thoughtfully. The raven was a dull red color and it had a Mohawk, which was rather rare for birds of his species. Lance knew immediately that it was Shadow's pet Raven Allen, who generally spent his free time in Draynor Manor. Allen flapped his wings slightly, comforting himself.  
After looking at the bird for a few moments, Lance turned around, heading towards the dining area. Zeta and Blitz followed. None of them saw the little white bat which had squeezed through the door before it closed and thus none of them noticed when the bat charged the raven, chasing it away. Allen cawed frightfully and fluttered his wings, flying upstairs to escape the bat as it perched where Allen had been previously standing. The bat turned its head ever so slightly to observe as Lance, Zeta, and Blitz continued into the dining area.  
The dining area was rather beautiful, despite its old age. The table was set up with plates, placemats, and unlit candles, all of which was surrounded by beautiful flora. Lance knew that this entire house was set up as though somebody still lived a normal life in it, even though the house was fairly uninhabited. Chairs were set up perfectly at the table, even though one or two of them may have been broken. Lance looked at a certain area, where there had been a chair squeezed between two other chairs, out of pattern. The chair had a rope tied around one of its legs, which caused it to stand out.  
To no surprise of Lance, the chair which was out of pattern suddenly hopped to life, somehow dancing in front of Lance. Lance knew immediately this was Woody, the haunted chair of Draynor Manor. Some of the chairs in Draynor Manor would suddenly come to life and follow around anyone who dared to wander into the mansion, as long as they didn't go up or down any stairs. This one in particular was important to Lance because this was the same chair that had followed Shadow around when some bandits had locked her inside the mansion. It had helped her magnificently and thus she had tied the rope around its leg so she would always remember which of the haunted chairs was her boy.  
Woody followed Lance, Zeta, and Blitz as they passed through the dining room. As always, he was uncannily happy about nothing, hopping blissfully to his own beat as he followed the unlikely group. He stopped, however, when the trio descended down the stairs, for like the rest of the chairs in the house, he was unable to pass up or down any stairwell.  
The basement was magnificent and had been set up in an eerie fashion which mystified many who came. Lance was still unaware of the albino bat which had followed him into the dining room, perched on the top of the stairs. The basement walls were lined with tapestries and old candles, which somehow remained infinitely lit. In the corner of the room was a dungeon, which had a large unlikely hole in the wall that anyone locked inside could probably crawl out through. A long burgundy rug was draped out along the floor, running from the staircase all the way up to the coffin which laid silently amongst the dust and bones at the other end of the room.  
Blitz and Zeta waited near the stairwell as Lance approached the coffin, ignorant to the fact that the bat had now followed them downstairs. Lance climbed the small steps to the coffin, which stood beautifully outlined in red and black in front of him. Most adventurers would come down into the basement and defiantly rip the lid off the coffin, enraging the creature which slept inside. Most were killed and only a few lucky ones escaped. Many adventurers thought they had killed him too, only to find that upon their next visit, the creature was still sleeping within the coffin. Lance, however, was not like most adventurers. He already knew of what slept inside the coffin and how to approach it in a friendly manner. He curled his fingers into a fist and gently knocked three times on the surface of the coffin.  
The creature inside the coffin woke abruptly at the sound of knocking. Confusion entered his mind, for it was unlikely for someone trying to slay him to knock on the lid first. He pushed against the lid, easily moving it aside. Lance jumped back as the lid slammed on the ground beside him, almost crushing his foot. Count Draynor sat upright, his eyes exploring the room.  
Count Draynor was dressed in all red, which even included his cape. He had brownish black hair, a color which could not be decided upon. His eyes were a vicious red color that bore into man's soul. He was rather pale and had sharp, fanged teeth, factors which revealed his vampyrism to anyone who saw him. His eyes narrowed in on Lance and Lance could see his muscles relax. "Ah, good morning, Lance." he greeted. "It's lovely to see you again. I see you brought Zeta and Blitz."  
Lance stepped aside to make room for Count Draynor, who stretched his arms out before even beginning to step out of the coffin. He rose to his feet, gazing across the room. The dim glow of the candles took a moment for his eyes to adjust to, as he was usually used to the pitch black inside his coffin. "Sorry to awake you, Count. I just thought I would come by for a visit."  
Count Draynor shook his head at Lance. "No, it's no problem at all. I'm simply glad you're not another one of those foolhardy adventurers who think they can slay Vampyres." His eyes narrowed in on the white bat perched on the staircase and it was the first time since the bat had appeared that it had been spotted. "Oh, what's this?" Lance jumped back as Count Draynor dove into the shadows suddenly, a fancy little move that could only be pulled off by a Vampyre. Count Draynor leapt from the shadows all the way across the room, startling both Zeta and Blitz as he appeared between them. He took a step closer to the bat, holding out a hand for it. The bat shook itself out before leaping from its perch to Count Draynor's hand. The bat stepped uncertainly across Count Draynor's arm. "This appears to be my brother's bat." Count Draynor observed. "I wonder what its doing here."  
Lance quickly ran across the room to where Count Draynor stood. He overlooked the white bat, recognizing it as the bat belonging to Lord Drakan. He wondered what a noble's pet could be doing all the way out in Draynor. The bat turned around, its back facing Lance. Lance then noticed a piece of parchment attached to the back of the bat.  
Uncertainly, Lance reached for the parchment, wondering if it was meant for him or not. However, the bat did nothing to stop him from taking it, so he assumed it was for him. As he took the parchment, the bat turned around, its red eyes scanning Lance over. "I didn't even notice it was following me." Lance commented as the bat flapped its wings rapidly. It lifted into the sky, flying back up the staircase and leaving the group alone.  
"Something from my brother, hmm?" Count Draynor asked, looking at the parchment resting in Lance's hands. "What do you think he wants of you?"  
"I'm not certain." Lance admitted, flipping the parchment over in his hands as he wondered when he should read it. "We'll just have to see." Lance pulled the string holding the parchment closed, dropping it on the floor as he went to read the paper. He opened the parchment carefully, making certain not only that he didn't rip it, but that he was opening it the right direction. He held it so Count Draynor could see, the two of them silently reading the messily scrawled words to themselves.

_To Lance:  
It has come to my attention that you have performed treachery against me recently. You have removed something from Morytania that I would very much like back and I'm sure you know what I am talking about. Due to this, I want you to travel from wherever you are to my castle, where you will stand trial for your treachery. All you have to do is show up, admit what you have taken, return it to me, and the case will be rested. Deny what you have done, and you will not like the results. Attempt to hide from me and not come and I will send Vanstrom to fetch you and that would be a very unpleasant little trip. Thus I highly suggest you be a good little human and come where you have been told. I will wait no longer then three days time upon the return of my bat. I suggest you make haste. You have been warned._

Deep in the blood,  
Lord Drakan

Lance and Count Draynor finished reading at about the same time and both were highly mystified. "What did you take from him that he's so upset about?" Count Draynor asked, taking a step back as to give Lance room to breathe.  
Unfortunately, Lance shook his head, responding, "I have absolutely no idea what he's talking about. I didn't take anything from Morytania. I won't even take a bucket or knife without his say so." Lance dropped the parchment in his fright, continuing to shake his head uncertainly as he continued. He grabbed Count Draynor by the shoulders, shaking him as he yelled, "I won't even access my bank account there for the fear that Lord Drakan would command my items are his own. I haven't taken a single piece of dirt or blade of grass. I don't understand what he thinks I did."  
"Are you going to go to Morytania?" Count Draynor asked, bending over to pick up the parchment which Lance had so mindlessly dropped in his panic. He gently pushed Lance aside, clearing up the space between them.  
"I don't really have a choice. I have to." Lance responded, shaking a little. "Didn't you read the letter? He said if I don't show up that he'll send Vanstrom after me." He lurched forward, once again grabbing Count Draynor by the shoulders. "I don't like Vanstrom, man!" Lance then back up, realizing that he had touched Count Draynor in a way the Vampyre would rather not be touched. "I'm going to have to go and attempt to convince him that I didn't take anything from Morytania. I don't know what will happen when I go, but it seems like the only choice I've got."  
Count Draynor backed up as he said, "Good luck, Lance. I'll watch after Blitz and Zeta for you. Come on boys, let's go to the dungeon for a while." Lance observed as the trio headed up the staircase, heading for the dungeon which Count Draynor had spent much time setting up, but never actually used. It was a litting sitting area where Count Draynor would often spend his free time reading, that short amount of time he wasn't actually sleeping the day and night away, like he usually did. Lance was glad to know that his friends wouldn't have to accompany him into Morytania. Certainly, his friends had all been in Morytania before, they had even been the Meiyerditch before, but none of them had ever ventured as far as Lance would be going. It was comforting to know they wouldn't be forced to come along.  
Lance departed from Draynor Manor, starting the ever long journey to Morytania and the dangers within it. It felt bizarre for him to be traveling alone, for Lance had grown so used to traveling with company that traveling without it was just an awkward feeling. Lance had spent years traveling with Shadow, then, when those two wanted to go their separate ways, Lance had traveled alone for a short period of time. It hadn't been too long and Lance had found he didn't like it.  
Lance pushed past the dead trees on the mansion ground after departing through the back door to the mansion and getting a chance to say farewell to Woody. He knew the trees in the back of the yard were all permanently dead, no chance of them moving on their own. Nonetheless, it was still uncomfortable to be surrounded by so many dead trees. However, Lance knew he would have to get over it. He was going to Morytania, where the living and dead meet. If he couldn't take being surrounded by a few dead trees, how was he supposed to expect himself to make it through Morytania alive?  
Nearing an unnatural exit to the mansion grounds, Lance leapt over the fence. He just barely cleared it, the fence being taller then he had expected. Now Lance could see why only Vampyres could clear the fence and use that as an exit. Getting over it was no minor feat. Lance paused as he saw a little albino bat perched on one of the dead trees outside the yard, gnawing on something Lance couldn't and didn't want to identify. Lance took a step forward, his feet crunching dead twigs underneath.  
The bat stopped what it was doing, glancing up at the sound of the cracking twigs. It stared intensely at Lance and the knight had to wonder just how well the creature could see him. He knew bats were prone to horrible eyesight, but what of Lord Drakan's bat? Was it just as horrible at seeing as any other bat? With a hideous screech, the bat abandoned its perch.  
Something about that creature made Lance feel horribly uncomfortable. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but that bat was bad news to him, something he would be glad if he never had to see again. He was joyous to see the bat's silhouette grow smaller over the horizon until the hilltops swallowed it.  
Lance quickly located the trail to Varrock, which he knew was only a short journey away from the mansion. The sun would still be in the sky when he arrived in Varrock and with any luck, he could make it all the way to Canifis before the sun fell. A part of Lance didn't like the idea of having to stop in a Werewolf village for the night, but he knew he had safely stayed at Canifis before. The Werewolves didn't treat him quite like another human. He could never figure out why the Werewolves acted as such, but he had a seeping suspicion that it had something to do with him being friends with a Vampyre. Perhaps the Werewolves looked at him differently because of that.  
Things soon felt normal to Lance again as he followed the trail to Varrock. The trees were a healthy green, their branches blowing in the gentle wind. The grass outlining the trail was tall and beautiful, swaying gently back and forth. Light had returned to the sky, beating away the gloomy atmosphere of Draynor Manor. With all of nature in tact and that horrible white bat nowhere to be seen, Lance finally felt relaxed and at ease with the world.  
As he followed the path, Lance heaved a sigh. It just felt so abnormal to be traveling alone, as aforementioned. He was used to Blitz riding up his side and Zeta'a endless talking. For a moment, Lance stopped walking, reaching down for the amulet strung around his neck. It had an intricate shape. It was an irregular oval shape with what appeared to be a pair of antennae on it. It was obviously meant to resemble what a bug's face looked like. Not only could the amulet translate what little insects were saying, but it also worked on a few non-insect creatures like spiders and scorpions. Lance had always wanted to test it on a Flesh Crawler, but was too nervous to take a side trip to the barbarian village of Gunnarsgrunn to test it out for certain. He lowered his hand, allowing the amulet to clank loudly against his armor. Already he missed Zeta's endless talking and boy could that Scorpion talk. There were times his talking drove Lance absolutely insane.  
Lance wondered how much distance the bat had covered already. He wouldn't be surprised if the bat was already back in Darkmeyer. There was something unnatural about those bats that lived in Morytania. They were faster and smarter. It was no wonder the Vampyres used them to send messages. Often times he received a message from Screecher, a regular looking brown bat that belonged to Shadow. The bat always managed to arrive at an amazingly far away location and make time that Lance couldn't imagine. He had never sat down and thought about exactly what time the bat was making, but it had to be far quicker then most anything else could travel. He also wondered why the bat had waited for him outside. Usually, once one of the Vampyre's bats delivered a message, unless they knew the person the message was sent to was going to send one back, they departed immediately. Perhaps the bat had been checking to see if Lance was really going to travel to Morytania or not. If so, then Lance had to credit that bat for having quite the initiative to check on something like that itself.  
Thinking about that also made Lance wonder if Lord Drakan could communicate with the bat, if the bat really had been checking such a thing. He had been able to speak with Zeta on a number of occasions without an insect-speak amulet, as had Shadow and any other Vampyre thus far. Would that power extend to bats too? Lance had seen Vampyres in their full-Vampyric form and they were quite bat-like. It wouldn't shock him if they could communicate with bats as well.  
Soon Lance found Varrock rising over the horizon. It was comforting for him to know he was approaching a city, a city full of humans, that is. Even though his closest friends were Vampyres, he still found that he didn't like being surrounded by them. Humans were much more comforting. Besides, he was a human too. Lance knew it was much more normal to be surrounded by his own kind.  
As he approached the main gate into Varrock, he found the guards staring at him, something that was a trifle on the discomforting side. He wondered what the guards were thinking and found his ascend towards the main gate slowing down. Lance shook his head. He was a white knight of Falador. He knew he shouldn't allow a couple of guards to frighten him. Besides, he had been to Morytania and back, not to mention faced the dreaded Corporeal Beast. What did Lance have to be afraid of?  
"Greetings traveler." greeted one of the yellow-clad guards at the main gate of Varrock as Lance drew near. "What brings you to Varrock?"  
Lance paused for a moment, wondering if he should tell them the truth and admit that he was going to Morytania or if he should spare them the details and lie. "I'm just passing through on my journey. Thought I'd stop at the Grand Exchange before I continued." He hadn't completely lied to the guard. He was just passing through Varrock and he was going to stop by the Grand Exchange to see if there were any good weapons up for sale. However, he had left out the details of where he was going.  
Regardless, the guard seemed to accept what Lance had said. "Many dangers in the world, my friend. Always keep your eyes open." the guard said. Lance had to wonder where the guard thought he was going. "Do you need a horse for the journey? It makes things much faster."  
There was absolutely no way in hell that Lance was dragging some poor horse out to Morytania. Although, Lance was still glad the guard had offered. That meant he didn't suspect Lance was going to the land of the dead. Nonetheless, Lance responded, "No thank you. I don't think it would be fair to the horse where I'm going. The horse wouldn't make it."  
"Ah, heading to the Wilderness, are we?" the guard asked upon hearing that a horse would not be a welcomed companion for the journey.  
Once again, Lance found himself relieved. The guard had thought he was going to the Wilderness. Morytania never crossed his mind, which was no surprise to Lance. Who would be insane enough to willingly travel into Morytania? Sure, let's go with that, Lance thought to himself. It couldn't be any worse then the guard thinking he was going to Morytania. "Indeed I am. It will be quite the dangerous journey for me."  
The guard shook his head and added, "You might not return." If only the guard had known just how true what he said really was. "I wish you luck on your journey. Where you're going, you'll certainly need it. If you happen to stop by Edgeville, be cautious of a camp of Outlaws set up nearby. Personally, I think that Lucien character has something to do with their appearance, but nobody believes me. Mark my words, something's going on in Edgeville. If you're passing through there, watch your step."  
Edgeville was a common stopping place for people who were traveling into the dangerous lands of the Wilderness. It was a pretty disgusting town. Most of the people in Edgeville were homeless people and the guards at Edgeville gave everyone a couple of suspicious glances as they walked down the street. There were plenty of mysterious people living there and nobody generally asked about its inhabitants. It was the perfect place for someone looking to find an escape from their past. Lance knew a Highwayman who occasionally stopped in Edgeville. Nobody gave him a second glance, as usual. Not that Lance would admit knowing him, since the Highwayman was apparently still robbing people of their items every now and then. His claims to be out of the job were far fetched.  
"I'll keep that in mind." Lance agreed to the guard, taking a cautious step forward in case the guard had anything else to say or do before allowing Lance entry into the city. However, the guard made no motion to stop Lance, so the knight entered the city.  
Lance immediately headed for the Grand Exchange, wanting to hurry up and leave before someone started wondering what a white knight of Falador was doing so far away from home. He knew that once he left Varrock and began his journey to Morytania there would be nobody to bother him. Until then, however, there was plenty of reason to question Lance's motives. Not that it mattered that he was going to Morytania; it was just that there were some things better off left unknown.  
Halfway on his journey to the Grand Exchange, a man rushed out from a hidden alleyway. He took Lance completely off guard and frightened the knight slightly. "Hey, you!" called the hideous man. Lance backed away from the man, for he was a disgusting mess. He smelled slightly of old tuna, too. "Spare a gold piece for a poor old beggar?"  
"Why don't you go kill a goblin for gold or something?" Lance hissed, for he never gave gold to beggars. "I don't have anything for you." For a moment, Lance thought the beggar wasn't going to leave him alone. "Go on, be on your way. Leave me be."  
"Cheapskate." growled the beggar before skulking back into his alleyway. Lance didn't really care what the musky beggar thought of him. He earned his gold fairly and there wasn't a chance in the world that he was going to give it up to someone who hid in an alleyway and impatiently waited for someone to pass by so he could beg for money. Far as Lance was concerned, beggars needed to get a job.  
Lance shook his head, trying to shake away the recent memory of being bothered by the beggar. He just wanted to leave Varrock behind him. Lance turned a corner, passing by a fortune telling tent. He couldn't help but scoff as he saw a line of people eagerly waiting to get their fortunes read. Fortune telling was a bunch of garbage in Lance's eyes. What was the point? It wasn't as though anything a fortune teller foretold was true. He remembered Shadow had been to this very fortune teller and she told her she was going to see a world ruled by Vampyres. Lance shuddered to think that ever being true. He knew the Vampyres were eager to cross the River Salve and many had already figured out a way past its holy barrier. Lance couldn't imagine what would happen if an entire army crossed the holy barrier. It couldn't happen. Could it? Lance shuddered, finding solace in the belief that fortune telling was bogus.  
After passing by a highly active bank, Lance found himself standing in front of the path to the Grand Exchange. Even from where he was standing he could hear the voices from the crowds of people he could clearly see in the Grand Exchange. It was a popular meeting spot for adventures and people of all hobbies. You could buy or sell anything there. Some people got far too obsessed with the Grand Exchange for their own good.  
Lance pushed his way through the crowds of people into the Grand Exchange. All he wanted to do was see if there were any dragon spears for sale. Shadow had once advised him to buy a dragon spear and poison its tip. She had told him it would be a very effective method of slaying strange creatures and people alike and that the spears were rather cheap for being made of dragon metal. Lance had never bothered to ask Shadow how she knew so very much about dragon spears. He just believed her.  
Pushing past more people, Lance approached the counter to the Grand Exchange, completely overlooking the mysterious man that had eyed him upon entry to the Grand Exchange. "Excuse me." Lance began, leaning on the counter and looking the Grand Exchange clerk right in the eye.  
"Welcome to Varrock's Grang Exchange." greeted the clerk as normal. "Are you here to buy or sell an item?"  
"Buy." Lance answered simply, knowing that it was regular for the clerks to ask such straightforward question. Before the Grand Exchange clerk could ask the knight what he was buying, Lance added, "I'm looking for a dragon spear and possibly some weapon poison too. A friend of mine who knows quite a bit about spears advised me to buy one."  
The Grand Exchange clerk picked up a list of weapons, piecing through it to see if there were any dragon spears available. "Well, there appears to be one available right now. A seller from a kingdom far away, which remains unknown, happens to be selling a dragon spear. It costs 40,000 gold, but the weapon's already poisoned for you. Interested?"  
Lance took a moment to look in his money pouch. He wasn't accustomed to carrying around lots of gold with him, but it just so happened that he was carrying just enough for the weapon. "Hmm… 40,000 gold, you say." He paused for a moment, wondering if it was worth it to spend the extra gold to get a weapon already poisoned. He knew that people often advised against buying a weapon from someone who refuses to say who they are or where they're from. However, Lance didn't think he'd get another chance to buy an already poisoned weapon. He didn't exactly know how to apply weapon poison in the first place. It wasn't something the knights of Falador were taught. "You know what, yes, I'll take the spear." Lance threw a bag of gold on the table, which contained just enough gold to cover the cost.  
"Alright, just give me a moment." said the Grand Exchange clerk, who turned around to meet with another Grand Exchange clerk. "Hey, do you know where that poisoned dragon spear is. We've got a buyer."  
"You mean the one Mr. Klause was selling?" asked the other clerk, to which he received a nod in response from. "Yeah, it's back here. Hold on, let me get it." Lance nearly choked when he heard the name of the seller. Surely it couldn't be Vanstrom selling a dragon spear. Why would Vanstrom need human money? Furthermore, why would he bother selling a cheap spear? Lance shook his head, figuring it was just an ironic matching of last names. "Here it is."  
The first Grand Exchange clerk took the red tipped spear from the other, overlooking it to make sure it was the right item. The very tip of the spear showed a light green hue, which Lance knew was what poisoned weapons looked like. "Here is the dragon spear. Would you like to carry it with you or should we bank the item?"  
Lance knew that he would be unable to carry both a sword and a spear with him at the same time and knowing the spear wouldn't help him in Morytania, Lance answered, "Bank it, if you will." The Grand Exchange clerk nodded quietly and carried the spear to another man. The two of them spoke about the spear as Lance backed away from the desk quietly.  
In fact, Lance wasn't even watching where he was backing up into. He suddenly backed into someone else, turning around swiftly to apologize to the person. He was shocked to see a rather old man standing behind him. Usually, the older generation avoided the Grand Exchange, claiming they didn't need all this newfangled garbage to buy, sell, and obtain items. "Hello there." the man greeted and Lance already found himself not liking this man. "I work for Mr. Klause." Lance shuddered at that name again. "Would you have any Blood, Nature, or Cosmic runes you're willing to sell? My client is willing to offer twice what the Grand Exchange pays." There was the name again. Was it really Vanstrom? What would he need Blood, Nature, and Cosmic runes for? What kind of spell would he cast?  
Somehow finding himself interested in whether or not it was Vanstrom buying and selling these items or someone else, Lance asked, "How many does he need?"  
"1,000 blood, 500 nature, and 200 cosmic." the man answered, appearing eager that Lance would have some runes available, which seemed unlikely.  
Lance found himself amazed that anyone would collect runes in such a mass. He knew for a fact that even with the discovery of the rune essence and the ability to runecraft that runes were still a rarity. He had heard it straight from the wizards at the Wizard Tower. Why would anyone want so many runes. "Does your client have a first name?"  
The mysterious man nodded eagerly, as though he thought he were really going to get some runes out of Lance. "Yes he does. However, he prefers that people use his last name. That's what he tells the clerks his name is and that's what he told me to call him by."  
"Can you tell me his first name?" Lance asked hopefully, wanting to confirm once and for all who this person was. Every beating second Lance became more convinced that it really was Vanstrom. Mysterious circumstances were appearing and Lance had known Vanstrom to travel through the rest of the world under the name Mr. Klause before. He had to confirm whether or not it was Vanstrom.  
Unfortunately for Lance, the man shook his head. "Sorry, Mr. Klause asked that I not give out his first name. Now, have you got any runes I can buy or not?" Lance sighed, knowing he was getting nowhere with this mysterious old man.  
"No, I don't." Lance finally answered, backing away from the man before he could ask any more questions. Even though the man had refused to give out a first name, Lance was still convinced it was Vanstrom. He couldn't quite figure out what Vanstrom was doing buying runes in such mass numbers, but he had convinced himself that Vanstrom was up to something. All of a sudden, he felt fearful for his journey to Morytania. Somehow, he imagined Vanstrom had something to do with this journey.  
Suddenly, Lance felt like he had to leave the Grand Exchange as quickly as possible, and that was exactly what he did too. Lance didn't quit moving until he was far away from the Grand Exchange. He stood in the main marketplace to Varrock now, staring at the fountain as it peacefully spewed water. Someone bumped into Lance and caused him to jump out of his skin. The person, who turned out to be a local dwarf, quickly apologized, realizing how badly he had frightened Lance, though he didn't know why, and quickly returned to what he was doing. Lance heaved a sigh, lowering himself to his knees as he splashed water from the fountain in his face. He stared at his reflection in the water, deciding that more then anything, he just wanted to leave Varrock.  
That was exactly what Lance did too. He quickly fled from Varrock and the memory of the creepy old man at the Grand Exchange. He slowed down as he exited the city. The path to Paterdomus was a lonely one. There was a work site across from the path and occasionally people would exit through the work site's main gate, but they would always head straight into Varrock. Nobody walked the same path Lance stood on. The only humans on the path were the guards watching Varrock's eastern gate and even they were far behind him. Lance knew there was a lumber mill further up the path, but he also knew he would be taking the eastern path before he reached the lumber mill.  
Lance paused in front of a gate which blocked the eastern path. He knew that gate was put there so nobody would foolishly wander in Morytania. There was a sign next to the gate that warned people Morytania was ahead. Lance knew he would have to go inside, though. So without another thought, he yanked open the gate with a screech and continued up the path.  
As Lance walked down the path, many small bats flew past him. Even in the bright daylight, these bats still flew, probably because the gloom of Morytania was close by. He often searched to see if one of the bats was white, but they were always either black or brown.  
Lance paused halfway down the path, glancing at the split in the path. He knew there was an old man living in these parts who was obsessed with collecting bones and that would be the only kind life he would find on his journey to Morytania.  
The temple which laid ahead of him, Paterdomus, had been taken over by Zamorakian monks a long time ago and they were generally unkind to anyone who didn't loyally serve Zamorak, the god of chaos. As a knight of Falador, Lance was bound to the service of Saradomin, the god of peace and enemy god of Zamorak. To make things simple, the Zamorakian monks wouldn't welcome him. There used to be an underground path, but it had been sealed off by a monk named Drezel to prevent the Zamorakian monks from accessing it and damning the river. The last thing anyone needed was anything that lived in Morytania crossing over the river. The only way to get into Morytania now was to cross the bridge, which had appeared by unknown circumstances. The Zamorakian monks were always keeping a close eye on the bridge, but Lance knew it was possible to cross the bridge without being spotted. He had done it many times before.  
Lance stepped foot on the bridge, glancing anxiously at the nearby temple to see if anyone was watching. So far had been good, for none of the Zamorakian monks were paying attention. Lance had never liked this bridge. Nobody could explain where it came from and on the off chance Lance had gotten to speak to anyone about it, they all seemed too afraid to talk about it. Even the Werewolves of Canifis didn't appear willing to talk about the mysterious bridge.  
Halfway across the bridge, Lance had just barely been missed by a blast of fire magic. Lance leapt frightfully to the side, glancing up to see what had attacked him. A man dressed in bright red robes leaned out the window facing the bridge, his hands held out towards Lance. He was one of the Zamorakian monks, no doubt, and Lance knew he would not be pleased that he was trying to cross the bridge.  
Realizing he was under attack, Lance broke out into a run, dodging the blasts of fire that were being shot at him. He didn't allow himself to slow down, knowing that he had to get into Morytania as quickly as possible. Another blast of fire just barely missed him as he rushed towards the end of the bridge. However, before Lance could get off the bridge, a blast of fire connected with him and he stumbled backwards slightly, caught off guard by the attack. Before he could recover completely, the Zamorakian monk shot another blast of fire at Lance, causing him to stumble off the bridge and collapse into the River Salve below. Lance could just barely hear the monk's maniacal laughter over the furious rushing of the water of the River Salve.  
Lance fought against the river current, trying to swim to the shore before he was sucked into the underwater cavern which passed underneath Paterdomus, for he would surely drown if he was sucked in there. Luckily for Lance, his hand reached the shore just before that happened. He struggled to pull himself out from the furious river, rolling over on his back and breathing heavily once he was finally on shore. He knew there was no way the Zamorakian monk could see that he had swam to safety. Currently, the monk was probably laughing with his friends about the knight he just drowned.  
Nervously, Lance climbed away from the river as he dripped dirty water on the dirt below, forming mud. The water rolled right off his armor, thought the clothing he wore underneath were now soaked. Lance's hair was dripping dirty water too, which was all the more disgusting. He glanced at the disgusting river behind him. It was amusing to Lance to think that the River Salve was a blessed river, since it was one of the yuckiest rivers he had laid eyes on. The water was dyed a deep brown and branches washed through the water as they were sucked underneath its surface.  
Trying to shake off the fact that he almost drowned in a blessed river, Lance rose to his feet, trying to brush off the feeling of fear. He knew that Canifis was nearby and right now, more then anything, Lance just wanted to lay down and relax. The citizens of Canifis knew he was friends with Vampyres and thus were very welcoming to him, unlike how they treated any other visitor who was foolish enough to think they would find solace in Canifis.  
It didn't take Lance long to arrive in Canifis, for the isolated village existed very close to the River Salve. It was so close that it unnerved many of Varrock's citizens, for they were always fearful that the Zamorakian monks would find a way to help the wolfish demons cross over the barrier safely. Canifis was a village isolated on an island in the swamp with only two ways out, far as anyone was concerned. Some of Canifis' citizens knew other ways, but nobody outside of Canifis did, not even the Vampyres.  
"Hello human." growled a deep voice behind Lance suddenly. "You appear to have lost your way." Lance turned around to see a dark brown Werewolf standing behind him. This Werewolf appeared to be in full wolf form and that always unnerved Lance. "How unfortunate that you have wandered upon Canifis. You will find no safety here." The Werewolf opened his mouth, revealing long rows of jagged teeth, which were yellowed.  
Lance tried to show no fear towards the Werewolf, as he was supposed to be here. "Hold on just a moment before you try and eat me." Lance said, which caused the Werewolf to tilt its head to the side ever so slightly. "My name is Lance Cheyne. I have been to Morytania several times before. I have been called here by Lord Drakan himself."  
Instead of trying to prove hopelessly to the Werewolf that he was called to Morytania, he instead held out the parchment which Lord Drakan had sent him, hoping it would prove to the wolfish monster that he was supposed to be here. The Werewolf eyed Lance suspiciously, his vicious red eyes darting to the parchment, then back up to Lance. Nonetheless, the Werewolf took the parchment and silently read it over. Lance waited patiently as the Werewolf read the parchment.  
Finally, the Werewolf pushed the parchment back at Lance with a furious snarl and for a moment Lance thought the Werewolf was going to ignore the parchment. "You're lucky, human. You have Lord Drakan's word backing you up. It's a shame; I wanted to see what you tasted like." Lance shuddered as the Werewolf shook his head. "Oh well. Come with me. I'm certain you'll want to rest after your journey to Canifis. I shall take you to the Hair of the Dog Tavern."  
"Thank you." Lance said, following the wolfish monster as he guided the knight through the village. Lance glanced around Canifis, noticing that it really hadn't changed since he had last been around. It was still surrounded by the swamp and mysterious lights still lifted up from nowhere and dimly lit the otherwise gloomy land of Morytania.  
The Werewolf stopped in front of a building made of old wood. It was a rather dull building, though Lance always found himself amazed that it managed to stand. The wolfish monster motioned for him to enter the building and it only took Lance a couple of moments to realize that the Werewolf had no intention on entering the tavern with him. Thereupon, Lance stepped away from the Werewolf, who seemed to be observing him with a hungry expression on his face. Lance was glad to leave the Werewolf behind as he entered the tavern.  
"Well, well, look who we've got here." Roavar smirked the moment Lance entered his tavern. "It seems you've come to Canifis once again. You come here often for a human. What can I do you for this time?" Roavar, as usual, was very relaxed with Lance's presence in the tavern and why shouldn't he be? He had serviced Lance on more then one occasion.  
"I've come here on account of Lord Drakan. I have been called to Darkmeyer to stand trial, apparently." Lance explained, figuring that if he wasn't specific with Roavar, the Werewolf bartender would simply ask to see proof and would read the parchment, discovering everything on his own. "However, I have been traveling for quite some time and would like to rest for the night, if you don't mind."  
Roavar laughed and for a moment, that unnerved Lance. "Come closer." he called to the knight. Uncertain what Roavar could want, but knowing it foolish to ignore a direct request, Lance neared the Werewolf bartender. However, it wasn't close enough for Roavar, for he signaled for Lance to draw closer. Lance obediently moved closer until he was standing directly in front of the counter. "Good." Lance glanced curiously as Roavar lowered himself, coming back up with a glass filled with unknown liquid. He sat the glass in front of Lance, who glanced uncertainly at it. "Well? Are you going to take it? It isn't poison and it isn't from the Vampyre's stash, if you're wondering. It's just ale. You don't think us Werewolves want to drink the same garbage the Vampyres drink, do you?"  
Though a bit uncertain, Lance accepted the drink, thankfully gulping down the liquid, which aside from being prepared by a Werewolf, didn't taste any different. "Yes, but why offer me a drink? I'm merely a human."  
"A human who is welcomed in Canifis. Master Malak would want me to service you just as though you were one of us." Roavar explained, reaching down, but never taking his eye off of Lance. As Lance finished off the ale which had been presented to him, Roavar sat a key in front of him and Lance eyed it suspiciously. "The key isn't going to rear up and bite you. It's just a key to a room. You wanted to stay here the night, did you not?"  
"Yes, I did." Lance answered, uncertainly looking Roavar over. "Why be so nice to me, though? I may be welcomed in Canifis, but that doesn't mean you have to treat me so kindly."  
Roaver lifted an eyebrow at Lance, eyeing him curiously as though he were uttering insanities. "Would you prefer that I be rude to you?" Lance shook his head at Roavar. "Then you'd best stop complaining. Anyways, you appear nervous and I can tell this quite easily. Whatever Lord Drakan wants you to stand trial for, you must be frightened of times ahead, are you not?"  
Lance lowered his glass on the counter, sighing as he looked inside the empty glass, as though he hoped liquid would magically appear inside. "I am standing trial for treachery against the Vampyres. Only, I don't know what treachery I committed. Lord Drakan claims I have removed something from Morytania, but I most certainly haven't. I don't know how I'm supposed to explain to him that I didn't remove anything from Morytania."  
Roavar glanced around the room, almost as though he were looking for someone. He then lowered his head and spoke to Lance quietly. "I'm going to give you some free advise, because frankly, I like you." Roavar began ever so silently, leaning forward. "Don't bother trying to convince him you didn't take whatever he claims you stole, because it won't achieve anything. Best thing to do is try and figure out what he thinks you stole and find a replacement for it. Lord Drakan is a tough man, as I feel you already know. I can only wish you luck on your trial. Try not to anger him, will you?" When Lance said nothing and only lowered his head dejectedly, Roavar added, "Perhaps it's better you sleep the thought off. You're facing Lord Drakan tomorrow, am I correct?"  
"Correct." Lance responded, wondering what the Werewolf could possibly have to add to the fact that Lance had to stand trial.  
"Well, I already offered my advise." Roaver said, pushing a wet rag into a glass he was holding in order to scrub it clean. "I'm not going to pretend like I have all the answers, because frankly, I don't. Just rest and worry about your problems tomorrow. I wish you luck in facing Lord Drakan." Lance silently thanked the Werewolf. "Sleep well, human."  
Lance took the key off the table, pushing the empty glass closer to Roavar as he backed away. He then headed up the staircase, knowing that Roavar was right. There was really nothing he could do about it, not tonight, anyways. So he decided the best thing to do was to simply head upstairs and attempt to sleep off the thought. He could worry about what would happen tomorrow. Before Lance could reach the top of the stairs, he thought he heard a voice calling to him. He paused, turning around.  
For a moment, Lance thought he had imagined someone talking to him. Nonetheless, he backed up down the stairs, checking to see if anyone had spoken to him. "Human." he heard Roavar calling to him. Lance wondered if Roavar knew his name and just didn't bother to use it or if he had absolutely no idea what Lance's name even was.  
Climbing halfway down the stairs, Lance inquired, "Yes?" He didn't quite feel like climbing all the way down unless he absolutely had to.  
"This room is on the house, as is your drink." Roavar responded calmly, continuing to mindlessly clean the glass. The way he cleaned the glass as he spoke, it was almost as if the two tasks were combined, that speaking and cleaning were all one task. "I'll prepare a drink for you tomorrow morning before you depart and that one will be on the house as well. Anything beyond that, you'll have to pay."  
Lance nodded, responding, "Alright." He waited a moment, making certain the Werewolf didn't want anything else. When Roavar lowered his head and went back to cleaning the glass, Lance decided that he was no longer wanted and turned back around, heading up the stairs. Lance reached the top of the stairs, wondering what room was his. It took him three tries, but he finally found it.  
Lance jumped on the bed, laying on his back with his arms spread. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, wondering what would happen tomorrow. He knew everything that Roavar had said was true. Arguing with Lord Drakan would yield no response, at least not a positive one. However, what else was he supposed to do. Lance tried to think of other things, allowing images of his closest friends to swarm into his mind. As these images took control of his thoughts, Lance's eyes fluttered shut and soon he found himself drifting quietly off to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Trial on Death****  
****I swear, I'm innocent**

Lance woke up early the next morning feeling rather startled. Sleep had been rough for him and he had found he hadn't enjoyed his night as much as if he were sleeping at home, in Falador. Falador just naturally felt safer then Canifis. To sleep in a town of Werewolves who would gladly feast upon him due to extreme hunger, it was an unnerving feeling. However, the feeling of sleeping in a town of Werewolves wasn't nearly as frightening as the knowledge that he would be facing the lord of the Vampyres today for something he didn't do. He was horrified to think that today was his trail date. What would the poor knight do to prove his innocence?  
The knight climbed out of his bed slowly, wishing he could just go back to sleep and that he would awaken with all his problems fixed. Of course, that was not logical to assume. There was no way going back to sleep would solve any of his problems. He would only be holding off the inevitable, which would eventually bite him in the back.  
After climbing out of bed, Lance wandered towards the window, glancing outside thoughtfully. Canifis was a naturally dark town, though not as pitch black as the farthest eastern reaches of Morytania like Meiyerditch and Darkmeyer. An unbreakable cloud of black hovered over those cities and even from a faraway location like Canifis, Lance still swore he could see the sky growing blacker in the distance. That was his destination, whether he liked it or not. Outside the Werewolves were gathered in the village's main clearing, playing some sort of game involving what appeared to be a skull. Perhaps it was Skullball. Lance was simply glad it wasn't his skull being thrown around like a play thing by the Werewolves. He shuddered, backing away from the window.  
Lance picked up the room key from the table, noticing that it suddenly felt heavier in his hands. He knew it was nothing more then his nerves and that the key didn't weigh any more then it had the last time he had picked it up. He was just nervous about his trial and about what would happen. Even the thought of wandering in Darkmeyer made him nervous. Darkmeyer was a city set aside for the higher ranked Vampyres of Morytania. Any human inside Darkmeyer knew he was dead domain and suddenly Lance realized he would have that same feeling in the city. None of the Vampyres would greet him in a friendly manner. He was better off with the Werewolves of Canifis.  
Knowing it was pointless to waste any more time, Lance took the key and departed from his room, heading downstairs. As he climbed the staircase, his mind swirled with all sorts of different thoughts and worries. He hadn't a clue what would happen to him in Darkmeyer and the more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. He tried to shake the feeling out of his mind, but nothing appeared to work. He always continued to think about it.  
The room was rather empty when he entered it. There were only three other people in the room besides him and none of them appeared to notice or care about him. First, there was obviously Roavar, who was still standing in the same place Lance had left him last night. He was even performing the same general activity he had been previously, which was scrubbing the glasses. Lance wondered if Roavar ever stopped cleaning the glasses and if so, when. Had he even slept the previous night, or had he been awake all night scrubbing glasses?  
Off in the corner of the room was a girl dressed in all black and a very tall one at that. She seemed more interested in staring at the table then anyone else in the room. Lance made a mental note to avoid all contact with her, as she didn't exactly look very pleasant.  
Finally, there was a Banshee, who occasionally threw the room some glances. She was a trifle out of place and although she wasn't glaring at Lance, she didn't appear all too interested in him. The Banshee threw Lance a glance before turning back to her own activities, whatever those were. She looked far friendlier then the other girl, but that still didn't put Lance's mind at ease.  
Lance approached the counter which Roavar was waiting at, taking a seat in one of the torn up chairs sitting in front of the counter. He sighed dejectedly, learning his elbows on the counter and taking the risk of laying his head in his elbows. He remained seated like that for a few minutes before someone finally took notice of him. Lance glanced over as he heard a bang on a table. The girl in black had risen in a fury. She approached the counter as well, throwing a few gold coins on the table before muttering something inaudibly and departing the tavern entirely. Somehow, Lance was glad to see her go.  
"She had even said she was never coming back here." someone noted, causing Lance to jump and look in the direction of the voice. It was Roavar who had spoken, who was now watching as the female in black departed the building, looking bothered by something. "I guess I can understand why, though. It's nice to have her business back."  
Lance glanced at the door before turning his attention to Roavar. The doors were swinging back and forth to show the departure of the girl. "Who was she?" Lance inquired, although he wasn't actually interested. He just wanted to start conversation with Roavar.  
Roavar gazed at the door as though he wasn't quite certain who Lance was talking about. "That was Ravana. She comes from the Wilderness and she's a pretty tough Werewolf. She took on Master Malak once. It was a foolish move, but she came fairly close to winning." It took Lance a moment to recall who Malak was, but he soon remembered that Malak was one of the Vampyre nobles, one who was commonly seen in Canifis. "Just recently she had come crawling into town beaten and bleeding. Nobody knows what happened, but another resident Werewolf took her in. Anthony. He lives in the cave underneath the tavern. It used to be an old Myreque hideout, but now it's pretty empty. Ever since she recovered she's been coming back to the tavern again. I know I said good riddance to her and her temper, but she provides good business what with all the drinks she buys."  
"How come she stopped coming for a while?" Lance inquired, even though he still could honestly care less. It was still conversation and it was relaxing him.  
"There was an incident with the room keys." Roavar admitted, looking a bit on the dejected side when he did so. "I took her room key to provide a room to another guest and she got upset that her, a paying customer, lost her key to someone who simply barged in and demanded a room. She claimed she was never coming here again, but it was just her temper. Although I do feel bad for what I did." Roavar shook his head, as though the thought of the past upset him. "That's unimportant, though. Can I get you anything to drink? I promised you a free drink in the morning, did I not?"  
Lance nodded in agreement, accepting that Roavar felt better not talking about the past. That was fine with Lance, too, for he didn't exactly fancy talking about people behind their backs. "That would be nice." Lance replied calmly.  
Roavar nodded, turning around to fetch the drink. The moment he turned around, the doors to the tavern opened and both Lance and Roavar turned around to see who had entered the tavern. It was a Vampyre dressed in old looking purple clothing, someone Roavar immediately recognized, whereas Lance had to think for a moment. The newcomer quickly crossed the room, taking a seat next to Lance, although he appeared bothered that he had to sit so close to a human.  
The newcomer, who was most obviously Malak, glared hatefully at Lance, as though he were telling the knight what he thought of a human in the tavern. "Dog! I would like something to drink and I would like it now. My usual, if you will."  
Lance could see the anger in Roavar's eyes and he deduced that it was most likely because he didn't like being called a dog. "Just a moment, Master Malak. I am servicing the human right now." Roavar then turned around, snatching a second glass from the counter.  
"You serve your Vampyre masters over humans, Roavar!" Malak called furiously, beating his fist on the table as though that would cause Roavar to work faster and for him.  
Lance shuddered slightly, fearful of the Vampyre who was sitting beside him. He knew that being a human meant Malak didn't fancy him in any sort. However, there was very little he could do about it. Deciding to attempt to launch friendly conversation with the Vampyre noble, Lance sat up and announced, "So, you're Malak?"  
For a moment, Malak merely glared at Lance, as though he were displeased that a human was speaking to him. "Obviously." Malak finally answered, although he did so in the rudest of tones which he could manage. His fingers impatiently tapped the table as he turned his head away, not wanting to look upon a human. "So I see that you are obviously blunt and a moron. I'm sure you've come to fit in quite well in this sorry excuse for a village."  
Insulted, Lance decided it would be a better idea not to hold any conversation with Malak at all, for it was quite clear the Vampyre wanted nothing to do with him. As the two attempted to ignore the other, Roavar walked back over to the counter, sitting two glasses side by side on the counter, not bothering to tell them which glass was which. "Here are your drinks, both of you.  
Lance attempted to reach for a glass, but Malak, without looking, reached forward and took a glass before Lance could. Lance drew back, watching as Malak snatched the glass on the right side with a swift fury. "Well, it's about time, isn't it?" Malak hissed, sitting the glass in front of him. He didn't take a drink from it quite yet, only stared at as though he wasn't quite certain of whether or not he wanted to drink it. While Malak was fiddling with his glass, Lance accepted the other glass, staring curiously at the contents in the glass. It looked a little too red for his likes. The liquid in his glass was a very dark red, which worried him. However, he trusted Roavar knew what he was doing.  
At the same time, though this was most likely simple irony, both Malak and Lance took a big gulp of the liquid in their glasses, completely oblivious to the fact of what they were drinking. Malak finished swallowing first and he gagged slightly on the liquid. Lance paused his drink to watch as Malak coughed twice, spitting the liquid back into the glass. "Is something the matter, Master Malak?" Roavar inquired nervously.  
"How about we start with the fact that this is not what I ordered?" Malak hissed darkly at Roavar, leaning forward and pushing the glass away. While Roavar and Malak were debating what was inside the glass, Lance finished swallowing his liquid. "I ordered my usual, which is specifically prepared blood, is it not? You gave me ale, dog. I do not drink human drinks." Roavar took a nervous step back as Malak slammed a fist on the table and asked with a hiss, "Where is my drink?"  
As Lance finished swallowing his liquid, he could feel his stomach gurgling unhappily at what he had done. Lance coughed far more violently then Malak had and before long, he collapsed out of his chair. Lance now stood on his hands and knees, coughing violently at an attempt to spit up what he had just drank. Malak laughed viciously at Lance as he spat up dark red liquid, alongside a few chunks of whatever food he had eaten recently. Roavar turned his head away, not wanting to look at Lance throwing up his drink. Malak, however, watched, and laughed. Lance continued to cough hoarsely. He eventually rose to his feet, wiping his mouth clean of the liquid dripping down his mouth and onto his chin.  
Roavar hazarded a chance at looking over the table, but somehow found himself drawing away from the mess Lance had left him on the floor. He threw Lance a concerned look as the knight uneasily took his seat once more, still coughing slightly. "Are you alright?" Roavar asked worriedly.  
"Great for someone who just drank blood." Lance coughed weakly, shaking slightly from the disgusting feeling of drinking blood. The knight rose back to his feet, spitting some red liquid back into the glass. Both Roavar and Malak could see how he shivered, though both showed different reactions to such an action. Malak simply laughed at Lance's discomfort, whereas Roavar showed true concern. "That was absolutely disgusting." Lance retched slightly.  
Roavar quickly reclaimed both of the glasses, dragging them away from the duo before either could complain any further about the little mistake. "I'm so sorry, both of you. I didn't realize that I had handed you the wrong drink."  
Lance stepped away from the counter, casting an angry finger upon Malak before saying, "Well maybe if he hadn't snatched a drink without looking at what he was grabbing, none of this would have happened." Lance shivered once more, though he tried to hide it.  
Malak narrowed his eyes at Lance, furious that any human would dare blame him for a mistake someone else obviously made. "You dare blame me, bloodsack? It was obviously your fault. Don't go blaming me for your mistake."  
"You know what? I don't even care anymore. I'm going to face my impending doom now." Lance snarled, turning around and heading towards the exit to the tavern. He threw the doors closed behind him, leaving Roavar and Malak inside the tavern. Lance paused as he exited the tavern, trying to catch his breath as he shivered from the uncomforting feeling of drinking the blood of what was probably an innocent human. Being a Vampyre and drinking blood was one thing, but Lance had had his Vampyre side taken away from him and returned to being nothing more then a human. Humans didn't drink blood and there was no way Lance was going to start now. He could still hear Malak's furious voice echoing in the back of his head and as he backed away from the tavern, he was worried the furious Vampyre might decide to follow him. Luckily for Lance, nobody had followed him out the tavern. He never thought he'd say this, but he was suddenly glad to be out of the Hair of the Dog Tavern.  
Lance shuddered slightly, not realizing a man in a dull brown shirt, dirty blue pants, and a black overcoat was approaching him. He wasn't aware of it until the man was pretty much right on top of him. "Greetings, human." the Werewolf said, causing Lance to jump a foot or so into the air before turning around to face the newcomer. "I am Anthony and I live in the cave underneath the Hair of the Dog Tavern. I couldn't help but overhear that you were traveling to the Vampyric city. The feral Vampyres and Ghasts are very active at these times. My cave stretches far. It would almost take you to Burgh De Rott, if you're interested in avoiding the feral Vampyres and the Ghasts."  
Lance couldn't imagine why a Werewolf was offering to help him, but the offer sounded genuine enough. Even though it unnerved him to accept help from a Werewolf, he knew it would probably be far more intelligent then trying to hike through the Haunted Woods or Mort Myre swamp. So, finally, Lance nodded his head, responding, "If you're willing to offer the assistance to me, then who am I to decline? I would love to use your cave as a shortcut."  
"Lovely." answered Anthony, seeming highly calm for a Werewolf. "The entrance to the cave is just behind the Hair of the Dog Tavern. I shall guide you through the cave, but you'll have to make your way to Burgh De Rott on your own. Just don't bother Ravana. She's had a very rough time."  
Lance remembered Roavar mentioning the name Ravana before and he realized that the Werewolf before him was speaking of the very same Werewolf that had been within the Hair of the Dog Tavern before. "Oh, I certainly won't bother her." Lance responded, not wanting to see her angry side.  
Anthony guided Lance around the backside of the Hair of the Dog Tavern, pushing away some of the undergrowth of the swamp to reveal a secret door up against the wall. He opened it with a creak, taking a step aside so Lance could make his way down. Lance lowered himself uncertainly into the hole, groping for the ladder which lead the way down into the dark cave. Cautiously did he climb into the cave and Anthony waited ever so patiently for Lance to climb into the cave. Once he heard Lance hit the ground, Anthony simply jumped down into the hole, not bothering to use the ladder at all. Lance was able to leap aside at just the last moment as Anthony came cascading into the cave. He landed with a thud, stirring up old dirt which had piled up inside the cave. Lance blinked a few times, trying to get himself used to the darkness inside the cave. Anthony could see just fine, however.  
Lance glanced in Anthony's general direction. The Werewolf was motioning for him to proceed through the darkness. He checked his sword, resting his hand on the sword's hilt. It was still there, still safe. He could still draw it and lunge if he needed to. Anthony rose his nose into the air, sniffing curiously. Lance tilted his head to the side, wondering what the Werewolf could be up to.  
"There has been a Vampyre in my cave recently." noted Anthony, brushing his hand gently across the wall. "I do hope they haven't made a nuisance of themselves."  
Figuring the Werewolf had used his astounding sense of smell to detect that there was once a Vampyre in his cave, Lance wandered forward cautiously. What could a Vampyre want with an abandoned cave? Anthony wondered if the Vampyre that had entered his cave had bothered Ravana. She was still weak and a Vampyre could easily take her down. He didn't scent any blood and Ravana was silent. Perhaps it had just been a scout. "What do you think they wanted?"  
Shaking his head, Anthony answered, "Not sure." His eyes darted across the cave, searching each and every wall, all the stalagmites and stalactites. "The scent is fresh, but I don't think they stayed too long." Lowering his head a little, Anthony continued, "Follow me."  
Blinking a couple of times, Lance watched as the Werewolf continued deeper into the cave. He darted ahead swiftly, not wanting to lose track of his guide. There were holders for torches on the wall, separated by approximately three feet of emptiness between on and another. Most of the torches were no longer lit. Lance stared curiously at a single torch lit in its holder. It was the second one he had seen in the cave. It didn't serve too well to light up the cave. Nonetheless, his eyes were enchanted from the glow of the torch, even though he had seen one of many lit torches before. Perhaps it was because the cave was so dark that the light brought a calming feeling to his heart.  
He glanced forward abruptly, realizing that Anthony hadn't stopped to wait for him to stare at the torch. The Werewolf was still a ways up ahead, slowly trailing through the cave, almost out of sight. Lance wondered if Anthony knew that he was no longer following. The Werewolf, with his wonderful hearing, of course knew that Lance had stopped, but he figured the knight would catch up, and thus continued ahead at his own leisure.  
Finally, Lance caught up with Anthony. He glanced backwards awkwardly, uncertain of what to expect. He just felt like something was following him, something was trailing him as he was trailing Anthony. There was nothing there, though. He glanced several times and nothing was following. Surely if something was watching them Anthony would've known.  
Anthony paused at the edge of the cave, motioning to a pile of rocks that could be climbed upon. "We're nearly out of this cave. Come on." Anthony placed a hand on the rocks, looking up at the top of the pile. Abruptly, he launched himself over the rocks, landing near a large door. He turned around, looking at Lance, patiently waiting for the knight to follow. Lance gently placed a hand on the rocks, pulling himself up. His agility wasn't the greatest, even if he had been training in it by the White Knights. He bit down on his lip in frustration as he pulled himself up over the rocks, slowly making his way up towards the strange door. As he neared the top of the rocky pile, Anthony pulled open the door, climbing through it. Lance made haste to follow, shaking himself out as he made it to the top of the rock pile. He too pushed open the door and made his way outside, where more darkness greeted him with open arms.  
"That sucked." Lance grumbled darkly, stepping up beside Anthony, who was glancing around the swamp thoughtfully.  
"Human weaknesses… They are rather saddening." noted Anthony, though he didn't seem to be insulting Lance more so as he was just making an observation. He pointed in a southerly direction, saying, "Go in that direction a little and you'll find a man with a boat. Tell him about your dilemma and he will take you to Mort'ton. From there you can walk to Burgh De Rott and there's a boat that you can take to that hideous Vampyre city." Anthony lowered his hand, turning around. "Good luck."  
Nodding, Lance responded, "Thank you." and made his way south, glancing back once as the Werewolf vanished back into the tunnel.  
Lance glanced nervously around the swamp, though there seemed to be nothing even somewhat alive nearby. No Ghasts nor other ghostly phenomenon. Just him and the ever growing tall marsh plants. Once more did he reach for his sword, though he didn't draw it. He simply rested his hand on the hilt, finding comfort in the fact that it was there should he need it. He followed the path that Anthony had guided him in, constantly looking around worriedly for anything that might sneak up on him. Being a human in Morytania was the most discomforting thing ever. Everything was out to get you, to spill your guts on the ground, from the smallest of leeches to the fierce Vampyres, they all wanted you dead. Lance kept his head held low as he crossed an unstable bridge.  
Waiting ahead was a rather dirty looking man, which didn't surprise Lance as being forced to wait out in the middle of Morytania would do terrible things to a person. Lance approached the man, raising a hand slightly. The man stared at Lance, saying nothing, waiting for the knight to speak up. "Excuse me, but are you the boatman?"  
The man tilted his head to the side a little, spitting on the ground. "There's a boat not two feet away from me." noted the man, scratching the side of his face, his dirt encrusted nails running across his cheek. "What do you think?"  
Lance didn't need to answer the sarcasm. "Can you take me to Mort'ton, boatman?" asked Lance politely, lowering his hand a little.  
"Name's Cyreg Paddlehorn. Don't call me boatman. If my name were boatman, that would be a sad day." Cyreg coughed, still hiding a snarl under his breath. "You're not Myreque. Why should I take you anywhere?"  
For a moment, panic rushed through Lance's spine. He wasn't Myreque. If anything, he was the Vampyre fighting society's enemy. He was friends with Vampyres, not that he would ever tell a Myreque operative. Then he sighed, remembered Anthony's advice. Just tell him your situation. "I have been summoned to Castle Drakan by Lord Drakan." began Lance, trying to explain himself calmly. "I am supposed to stand trial for my removal of something important from Morytania, though I know not what the Vampyric Lord thinks I stole. I must get there as soon as possible, for if I do not make haste then Vanstrom Klause will come searching for me." He suddenly glanced back, digging through his pocket for the note. When he found it, he held it up for Cyreg to see. "I have this message that declares so."  
Cyreg stared thoughtfully at the scroll for a while, saying nothing, then suddenly snatched it out of Lance's hand. He muttered to himself as he read the message and worry was seeping down Lance's spine the entire time. Finally, the boatman handed the scroll back to Lance, took a step towards the boat, and said, "Get in." Lance hesitated. "Well?"  
Shaking his head, Lance made haste to climb into the boat. Cyreg climbed over the edge after Lance and settled and the boat drifted off through the marshes. Neither said anything to the other as they traveled. Even as they landed at Mort'ton and Lance climbed out of the boat, neither spoke. Lance watched as that boat vanished back into the marshes of Mort Myre.  
Lance made his way nervously through Mort'ton, avoiding eye contact with the infected citizens of the town. As long as he didn't provoke them, they left him alone and he was able to cross through the main clearing of the town and over the bridge towards Burgh De Rott simply. He glanced back once more, staring at the infected citizens as they wandered aimlessly. One stopped, a male, and gazed at the knight. Immediately Lance lowered his head and shuffled away. The creature, satisfied that it was not being watched, returned to what it was doing before, wandering aimlessly.  
Lance was not stopped as he attempted to enter Burgh De Rott. The citizens watched from behind wrecked houses as Lance climbed over the gate, almost as if they knew that he brought doom with him. Lance decided it was best not to interact with the citizens of Burgh De Rott. The less people he drew into his situation the better. He crossed the town as quickly as his feet would carry him, avoiding eye contact with any of the citizens. Soon he found himself nearing water and he glanced around curiously for the boat that Anthony had spoken of, though he seemed to be having difficulty finding it.  
"What are you doing here?" a voice demanded viciously. Lance immediately glanced behind him to see a Vyrewatch resting on the wall of a nearby building, a building which was falling apart as it was. "You aren't supposed to be outside of Meiyerditch." Lance shuddered as the hunched Vyrewatch abruptly leaped to his feet, spreading his wings and taking to the sky. The Vampyre thought he was an escaped citizen of Meiyerditch. How would he explain otherwise to the winged monstrosity? The Vampyre landed in front of Lance, standing taller then the knight did. "I will have to bring you back." Smirking, his fangs glistening, he added, "Painfully."  
The Vampyre spread his wings wide, his short snout opened up a little to reveal pointed teeth. Lance took a step back nervously, terrified of what the Vampyre would do with him. He immediately dug nervously in his pocket, searching for the note. "Wait!" Lance cried, tearing the message out of his pocket and holding it up for the Vyrewatch to see. The Vyrewatch lowered his clawed hand a little, gazing questionably at the note. Lance's heart was beating like a hummingbird. "Read this!"  
The Vyrewatch lifted an eyebrow at Lance, uncertain of what kind of trickery the human was trying to pull over him. Nonetheless, he snatched the scroll out of Lance's hands, unfurling it so he could read it. Lance's heart continued to pound against his chest as he watched the Vampyre, who was focused on the note. The Vampyre's snarl vanished and he lowered the scroll. Lance flinched back as the Vampyre threw the scroll his direction and for a moment Lance was worried the Vyrewatch hadn't believed him.  
Lance lowered himself to the ground to pick up the scroll, shuddering as the Vampyre stepped towards him. He cast a haunting shadow over the knight and Lance still felt a strong sense of foreboding fear. As the Vyrewatch stepped closer, Lance was sure he was dead domain. The Vyrewatch spread its wings wide. "I see." said the Vampyre calmly.  
Noticing that the Vampyre was no longer showing any signs of hostility towards him, Lance calmed down drastically. His heart slowed down, his breathing calmed, and he found himself able to look at the Vyrewatch without feeling afraid of him.  
"I shall be your guide to Castle Drakan. My name is Vanacity." Lance stared at Vanacity, wondering how the Vampyre was going to guide him into a city with no entryway to speak of. Vanacity flapped his wings rapidly, taking to the sky. Was he going to fly over the wall and leave Lance behind? Lance gasped abruptly as the Vampyre wrapped his clawed toes around the knight's shoulders, picking him up and dragging him into the sky. Lance howled in terror, struggling in the Vampyre's grip. "Stop struggling!" hissed Vanacity spitefully. "I'll drop you and you would not like that."  
Lance calmed himself, despite the terror racing down his spine at being lifted into the sky by a Vyrewatch. Lance was a human, a very normal human. He was never given the ability to fly and the only time he had been high up he had been standing on solid ground. Now he was being lifted into the sky and carried over the ruins of Meiyerditch. It was frightening, as was the way other Vyrewatch stopped and stared at the duo. Eventually, the Vampyre lowered Lance to the ground, dropping him gently.  
Vanacity landed himself, staring at Lance. "Lord Drakan awaits you, human." Vanacity said calmly, pointing towards the doors. Lance inched closer to the door, watching to see when Vanacity would take off, but he did nothing of the sort. He simply remained where he stood, watching Lance's every movement with an intense expression on his face. "What?" asked the Vyrewatch.  
"Aren't you leaving?" asked Lance curiously, tilting his head to the side. "You know, more important things to be doing."  
"In fact, I do have more important things I could be doing." said Vanacity vainly. He knew it was a lie. He had been hanging around Burgh De Rott in the hopes of getting to see the elf that was rumored to be living in the town. He has seen plenty of humans, all who had tried to hide and pretend like they didn't exist, but the Vyrewatch was more intelligent then that. He simply didn't care enough to interject. "However, as you are a human, you will not get two steps through Castle Drakan without being pounced upon, and not everyone will stop to read your precious note. So, as much as I shudder to say so, I will be your guide through Castle Drakan as well. I will take you to the room your trial will be in. Besides, the trial may be interesting. Maybe you'll be guilty." Vanacity smirked.  
Lance swallowed nervously upon hearing that Vanacity was hoping he would be guilty. He turned away from the Vyrewatch, making his way towards the castle looming in front of him. The guards tried to stop him, but Vanacity yelled at them to do their jobs and they allowed Lance to enter without any problems. Lance made his way though the castle, constantly glancing back at Vanacity for direction. Often times the Vampyre would stare at him quietly, as though he were an idiot, but most of the time he would gently cast a finger in a certain direction and Lance would follow. Several Vampyres stopped to stare at the human traveling through their castle, but as he was being accompanied by a Vyrewatch, none of them made a problem out of it. If they were intending to do so, Vanacity glared at them, and they moved on quickly. Soon enough, Lance found himself at a dead end, a huge set of double doors waiting in from of him. He turned back to face Vanacity, curiously inquiring, "Is this the room?"  
Vanacity nodded. "Yes, human. This is where your trial is being held. Do not keep my lord waiting." Vanacity brushed past Lance, making his way into the room.  
Lance entered as well, the double doors squealing loudly as he drew them open. He glanced to the right, seeing Vanacity as he settled between two female Vyrewatch in the seats. The room was shockingly accurate to a human courtroom, which surprised Lance quite a bit as he was assuming Vampyres would do it a different way. At the very head of the room, sitting a good twelve or so feet from the ground was Lord Drakan, who glared darkly at Lance as he entered the room. A few feet below him were Vanstrom, Vanescula, and Ranis, all who were sitting possible seven or eight feet from the ground. Vanstrom was in the middle and he seemed in a rather good mood, whereas Ranis was to the left and seemed to be glaring at Lance as darkly as Lord Drakan was, and Vanescula was to the right and seemed overall bored with the situation at hand, tapping her fingers impatiently on the table in front of her.  
Vanstrom smirked as Lance entered the room, knowing what was in store for the knight. Lance shuddered upon seeing Vanstrom's smirk. What did the Vampyre noble know that he didn't? He shuddered to imagine what Vanstrom was thinking.  
Upon seeing Lance enter the room, a murmur rose amongst the Vampyre in attendance. It began as quiet, but soon the volume rose. Lance flinched back as a Vyrewatch angrily threw something at Lance, though he couldn't identify what. Pretty soon screams were rising from various Vampyres and Lance was cowering back from all the angry Vampyres.  
Vanescula sighed slightly, shaking her head. She seemed at all amused by the actions of the Vampyres in attendance. Ranis seemed oblivious to the chaos. He simply stared and waited. Vanstrom was still eagerly smirking, though Lance was too busy flinching from things being thrown at him to notice.  
"Quiet." Lord Drakan stated calmly. He closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for silence, but discovering that he was getting none. "I demand silence." Lord Drakan demanded a bit more viciously. When he was still ignored, he rose in his seat and violently screeched, "You will all silence yourselves!"  
The room immediately fell silent. The taunts and screams of the Vyrewatch faded immediately as they all glanced up at Lord Drakan, waiting to see what the Vampyre Lord wanted. Lance was still shivering slightly, but he too found himself staring at Lord Drakan. The only Vampyres that weren't looking at Lord Drakan were Ranis and Vanescula. Vanstrom threw one more glance to Lance before he shifted his gaze to the Vampyre Lord.  
Smiling slightly as he rested his hands on the table in front of him, Lord Drakan said, "Good. Now, as this is my courtroom we will all obey my will in here, just as you would anywhere else." The Vyrewatch nodded and muttered amongst one another, though the muttering fell silent as Lord Drakan spoke again. "Now, may we begin?"  
"Yes, Lord Drakan." Vanstrom responded to the Vampyric overlord, rising to his feet. "Everyone will now rise for the honorable Lord Drakan is present." One by one Vampyres rose to their feet, Ranis and Vanescula being one of the last to rise. "Very good." He turned to look at Lord Drakan, saying, "We will begin on your cue, my Lord."  
Lord Drakan nodded his head, signaling for the other Vampyres to take their seat. Vanstrom was the first to sit and soon other Vampyres followed the hint. Ranis hesitated sitting down, unlike Vanescula who sat just as quickly as Vanstrom had. Vanescula returned to resting her head on her hand. She almost seemed tired, as though she had been deprived of a good night's sleep, but Lance knew that wasn't true, couldn't be true. Vampyres didn't require sleep. She was just increasingly bored of this event. "Vanescula." Lord Drakan said, looking at the Vampyric Lady.  
Vanescula sat up a little, though she still seemed to be increasingly bored. "Lance of Varrock, White Knight of Falador, step forward and face your leading Lord, for you have been accused of the utmost treachery." Vanescula said, though the lack of amusement in her voice was amazing. Lance stared at Vanescula nervously. She leaned forward and added, "That means you may want to approach the podium." She then leaned back again, returning to her previous pose.  
Nervously did Lance cross the courtroom, several Vampyres staring at him as he crossed the room. He kept his gaze on Lord Drakan at all times, afraid of what might happen should he even think about looking at one of the other Vampyres. As he crossed the room, the Vampyres started muttering to one another, but nobody reacted to it. Lance stopped several feet away from where the Vampyre nobles were sitting, looking up at them as they stared down upon him.  
"Everyone be quiet now." Lord Drakan calmly stated, folding his hands together as he spoke. He kept his gaze focused on Lance and that made Lance feel uncomfortable. What was Lord Drakan thinking? Was he already imagining what he would do to Lance when he was pronounced guilty? Were those thoughts already racing through his mind? Lance swallowed a lump in his throat nervously. The Vampyres in the courtroom continued to mutter amongst one another, ignoring Lord Drakan's request for silence. "Quiet now, quiet. I ask for silence."  
However, silence did not come and Lord Drakan snarled at the ignorance of the Vampyres, how they dared to speak when he requested them not to. Ranis glanced at Lord Drakan, noticing the irritated look on his face. Rising to his feet, Ranis howled, "Lord Drakan has demanded your silence!" Most of the voices stopped and all eyes were upon Ranis. "When Lord Drakan asks for your silence, you should fall immediately silent if you know what is good for you!" A light murmur rose from the Vampyres, but soon stopped as Ranis slammed his fist angrily on the table in front of him.  
Lord Drakan seemed at ease now. "Take your seat, Ranis. You have done well." Lord Drakan said to Ranis, glancing over at his younger brother.  
"Of course, my Lord." Ranis said with a nod, immediately sitting back in his seat. He snarled darkly at the other Vampyres and a few shied back at Ranis' signs of hostility.  
"Good." Lord Drakan said softly, seeming almost relaxed. For a moment, Lance was at ease in his mind, but that feeling quickly faded as Lord Drakan's snarl returned and he glared upon the knight once more. "Lance Cheyne, you have been summoned here before me because you have performed a treacherous act upon this land. You have removed something from this land that was not meant to leave and I demand its return. You will submit that you stole this away from me and tell me where I may find what I look for or face dire consequences."  
Lance lowered his head for a moment, not wanting to look into Lord Drakan's eyes. A low murmur rose amongst the Vampyres, but this time Lord Drakan ignored it completely. "My Lord…"began Lance politely, addressing Lord Drakan as anyone ruled over him would. "I have come here to clear my name. I understand that you believe I have stolen something from you, but I am here to say I have not taken a thing from Morytania. If you would just allow me to-"  
Vanstrom glanced over at Ranis as he immediately rose from his seat, casting a furious finger upon Lance and crying, "Lying little bastard! You know exactly what you did! How dare you lie directly to your leading Lord's face!"  
"Calm, Ranis." Lord Drakan said simply. Ranis glanced back at Lord Drakan, the angry snarl vanishing from his face. "I can handle this quite well."  
Lowering himself back to his seat, Ranis quietly muttered, "My bad, my Lord. I will try to keep my anger in tact." He lowered his gaze.  
Nodding, Lord Drakan said, "Very good." He then returned his gaze to Lance, who was shivering slightly and trying to stop that exact act. However, Lance didn't dare take his gaze off of Lord Drakan, for the fear that he might invoke his wrath. "Now, Lance, you deny that you have taken anything from me?"  
All eyes were upon Lance now, eagerly awaiting to see what he would respond with. "Lord Drakan, I know you think I have stolen something from you, but I swear on my honor that I did not." Lance responded to Lord Drakan, who snarled hatefully in response.  
"Liar!" screamed Ranis, once more leaping to his feet, obviously oblivious to his previous commentary that he would try to keep his anger in tact.  
Soon the voices of other Vampyres rose amongst Ranis' accusations, various angry curses thrown upon the knight as he glanced around the room, looking amongst the furious Vampyres. He felt so very small in front of the crowd of Vampyres and the only thing he could do was to lower his head and attempt to ignore the various screams of the angry Vampyres. Only two Vampyres in the room were calm. Vanescula hadn't shifted the slightest from her bored posture. The fight didn't seem to amuse nor bother her. Vanstrom, on the other hand, was smiling. He seemed to be enjoying the way the other Vampyres were beating Lance down with their accusations. He knew just how innocent the White Knight was, but it amused him to see that he was being treated as though he wasn't.  
Lord Drakan rose to his feet, slamming his fist several times on the table in front of him. "You will all silence yourselves or I will throw each and every one of you in the dungeon!" Lord Drakan screeched furiously, which earned almost instant silence from the room. Vampyres took their seats once more and Ranis lowered his head shamefully as he lowered himself to his seat as well. "If you will not admit what you stole, perhaps you can be reminded. Vanstrom, please recollect the tale you told me at my previous party, if you would?"  
Rising to his feet calmly, Vanstrom responded, "Of course, my Lord." He glanced down upon Lance, licking his lips hungrily. Lance took a nervous step back, but froze when he saw the way Lord Drakan was glaring at him, almost as though daring him to try and run. "Human." Vanstrom began deftly. "Approximately two days ago, Lady Shadow left Canifis after renewing her blood sample with Malak. At that time, the two of you were seen meeting up near the River Salve. You were observed crossing the River Salve with Lady Shadow and taking her out of Morytania, an act which Lord Drakan did not condone. Now, do you accept or deny that you removed Lady Shadow from Morytania?"  
"What?" Lance gasped as Vanstrom took his seat, smirking once more. "I never took Shadow out of Morytania!" He was glared at by several different sources. "I haven't seen Shadow for weeks, not since she returned to Morytania under the claim of feeling weak separated from her homeland. I have not entered Morytania since nor have I even neared the River Salve. I have not seen Shadow since she departed to return to Morytania to cure her illness."  
"Why do you lie to me?" Lord Drakan asked calmly, looking down hatefully upon the young knight. "Vanstrom saw you perform that exact act and Lady Shadow has been missing for quite a while now. So tell me, why do you lie?"  
Lance took several steps forward, defiantly raising his voice against Lord Drakan as he yelled, "I'm not lying! I don't have any idea where Shadow is! Vanstrom is full of bullshit!"  
Vanstrom immediately jumped to his feet to defend himself, but Lord Drakan snarled at him and demanded, "You will sit down, Vanstrom!" Vanstrom grumbled darkly and took his seat once more, turning his head to the side. Lord Drakan then turned his attention back to Lance. "I want you to understand this, Lance. I know you are afraid of punishment, and that I understand. However, if you tell me where Lady Shadow is and she is returned to this land, there will be no punishment to speak of." Lance was surprised when Vanstrom didn't seem disappointed by that. What did he know? "So I will give you one more chance. Where is Lady Shadow?"  
Lord Drakan couldn't really punish him for something he didn't do, could he? Lance hadn't taken Shadow and he never would do anything like that for the exact reason that was occurring now. "I swear that I have no idea where Shadow is."  
Shaking his head, Lord Drakan responded, "Fine, don't tell me. I will find her on my own. Just know that you have condemned yourself forever. You will never leave my dungeons as long as you live. My guards will make your life a living nightmare, a nightmare from which you will never escape. From this moment on, you are my prisoner and Vanstrom, you may do what you wish with him. Torture him, torment him, I care no longer. I will not listen to him blatantly defy me any longer." Lance felt himself shrink. Lord Drakan was being serious. He didn't believe him. "Guards, take this defiant human here to the dungeons. I no longer wish to see him."  
Lance jumped back as two guards stepped out from the group of Vampyres sitting behind him, watching. He couldn't be locked in the dungeons! He was innocent!  
Immediately, Lance ran for the podium, jumping against it and trying to scramble up, but unable to do so. Pushing his body up against the wood, he pleaded, "Please, Lord Drakan. You must believe me. I do not know what happened to Lady Shadow." He was even kind enough to put her title in front, a title he did not know she had. He flailed wildly as the guards grabbed him by the arms, pulling him away from the Vampyre nobles. He struggled to fight back, but soon lost his footing and was being dragged out of the room by the guards. "Vanstrom is lying to you! He probably know right where she is! You've got to believe me!" Lance cried as he was dragged out of the room.  
Watching as the doors slammed behind the two Vampyric guards and Lance, Vanstrom smiled, for everything was going according to plan.


End file.
